Furor Amoris
by Gillette-x
Summary: The fever of love. A sickness that clouds our judgement and our decisions. We are not ourselves when in love with another. A series of drabbles and headcanons about the relationship between Morgan and Carol. Sorry not sorry for my obsession in these two. Corgan.
1. Raging inside

**Raging inside**

She didn't hate him.

That was the problem.

She had tried and failed to hate him. In Alexandria; out there; here in the Kingdom. It didn't work for some reason. Hate started with rage, and she was furious towards him 90 percent of the time. And yet there was something about him that made things so complicated; something in his eyes that made her lower the gun every time she pointed it at his face.

She should've hated him for saving her. Instead, she found herself growing fond of him and yearning his presence from time to time. It was frustrating.

She had saved him once as well. Without asking, she had protected him from Rick and Alexandria finding out the truth. He had questioned her about it and she'd evaded him. Maybe because she didn't know why either. She was very close to finding out, though. And the answer only made her more angry.

But Morgan, he was repaying that one depth. Nothing else. He didn't care for her, and if he did, he was stupid. She had threatened to kill him more than once. A smart man would've responded the same way. Or at least kept as far away from her as possible.

When he first appeared in Alexandria he had intrigued her. And when he'd read her like an open book she'd known, instantly, that he wasn't the soft soil she had judged him as at first. He was a cave; dark inside and full of secret passages. And she'd done her best to shed some light in them, to find out what was hiding underneath. She had never asked him personally but she knew where he came from; what he'd gone through; what he'd done and been forced to do.

He'd had a child like hers. Little boy, too good for this world. Too weak to pull the trigger and defend himself. He had watched him die just like her. He had seen the monster in a person he once used to love. He had lost it like her. Lost his will to live. He had come back from it.

And now he wanted her to do the same. Would she dare defy him? Was it even worth it?

She couldn't hate him for hoping. It was endearing; foolish but sweet. He was like a child: looking at the world with big eyes full of wonder, unaware of the danger of his ways. She was incapable of hating that. Deep inside she knew she loved it. She knew she wanted to protect that vision from ever shattering in the man's head. His hope... she wanted to defend it.

He had somehow won. She was alive. And now they were both stuck together. God knew for how long.

And her feelings for him… this compassion, this fondness, this defiance and protectiveness she felt for this man she did and didn't know…

They just kept on raging inside her.


	2. That's a mother

**That's a mother**

They'd first transformed into begrudging friends. Natural consequence of being stuck with someone you had to constantly take care of. And then things started to change between them. She had shut herself off for a very long time, and now her walls were crumbling, revealing who she really was underneath all the violence and fortitude.

It was sort of mesmerizing to get to know her better. She was softer than he had expected. Motherly; sweet; beautiful. She sort of reminded him of his wife, though they were nothing alike. Maybe it was just the situation. Him taking care of her, like he'd taken care of Jenny in the last days of her life. She sometimes brought back those memories with such vividness he would have to bite his lower lip to prevent himself from crying.

He now read to her every night and stayed with her until he was sure she was in deep sleep. She had trouble falling asleep. Even when accompanied, sleep seemed to terrify her. That was something he knew very well. Sleep was risky when survival was the priority and dark dreams waited on the other side. But she was tired, and tiredness was something even she couldn't fight. Especially with the painkillers the doctors at the Kingdom insisted on giving her.

Les Miserables was a sad story, but that didn't make it less beautiful. In stories like this there was always hope at the end. She had liked the first chapters when he started reading them to her. Seemed to hit a soft spot inside her.

"Have you read the book before?" She asked him one night.

"Yes."

"What happens to Cosette?"

"You'll see."

"I don't want you to read me the whole story. It has too many descriptions." Morgan smiled at that. Carol swallowed and turned in the bed, her eyes fluttering shut in that way children's did when they couldn't fight sleepiness anymore. He closed to book and set it aside.

"Well… Valjean fakes his own death to escape Toulon and goes after Cosette, who is being mistreated by the Thernardier, and he takes her with him. Cosette meets a revolutionary young man, Marius, and he falls in love with her."

"And they live happily ever after?"

"In a way."

"Hmmm…"

"The story is good. I'll read it to you." She smiled softly and her hand patted the side of the bed. He hesitated for a second, but ended up giving in, settling next to her. They lied there in silence, her hand on his chest and her eyes closed. He turned to look at her. She looked peaceful. He liked that.

"Fantine dies so that her daughter can live. That's a mother."

"Yes." Her breathing started to slow down. She was falling asleep. He wondered whether she would dream of her Sophia. Maybe she'd dream her as Cosette. Growing beautiful and strong while she was the one lying meters underground.

In stories like this there was always hope at the end.

Real life wasn't that generous.


	3. If stares could kill

**If stares could kill**

He knew something was wrong from the first moment he came into the room. She had been trembling for no reason; seemingly unable to focus on what he said or did. He'd wondered what was going on but decided to brush it aside.

Big mistake.

"Watch it, asshole!" She hissed as the side of his hand slightly touched the bullet wound.

"I didn't do anything."

"You've done plenty, you jerk." Tell me something new, he thought. The amount of times she had insulted him by now had practically made him invulnerable.

"I'm sorry." He exhaled and kept on bandaging her leg. She was still looking at him. God, if stares could kill… "You're in a really bad mood today."

"My leg hurts like hell, I can't walk and I'm stuck in this shit-hole with you when I should be dead!" Her voice broke violently and she hid her face in her hands. Morgan's hands stopped and his eyes moved up towards her, wide like plates. He held his breath as he saw her sobbing so hard her entire body shook. Her breathing started to hitch, as if she was choking. It was a panic attack.

He'd had them too back in his worst days. One minute everything was fine and then the next the entire world became a blur and he couldn't breathe anymore.

"Carol… look at me." He moved, slowly, making sure she could see where his hands were going, and grabbed her shoulders. "You can get through this. Breathe." She started to hyperventilate and in her fearful expression something turned violent. Her hands clawed onto his forearms and she threw herself against him. Morgan's head hit the wood of the floor violently. He grabbed Carol's shoulders tighter and tried to push her off him, but she was using her entire body to overpower him and he didn't want to hurt her. As she thrust her head forward he ducked and screamed when her teeth dug into his collarbone so hard he was sure she ripped a chunk of it.

He pushed her face away from him and immobilized her against the floor. Her teeth were filled with blood and he felt it himself as it started to spread down his shoulder. One of her hands reached his face, scratching his left cheek. He held it high over her head, watching her growl and scream underneath him. He should've handled the situation differently, but she would just hurt herself if she kept on moving. Her wounds were still fresh and if they opened she could lose a lot of blood. So he held her down while she wriggled violently in his grasp, her feet kicking, her upper body rising and falling in an effort to push him off her.

Finally, she got tired. Her head fell against the wood, her breathing normalizing, crying in silence.

His hands loosened around her wrists and he pulled himself off her. He caught a reflection of himself in the mirror as he got up. His sleeves were torn with scratches and his cheek was bleeding. His shirt was red with blood on the upper left corner, very close to his throat. She had failed to reach her objective. He knew she had aimed towards his jugular.  
Had she been successful, he'd be choking in his own blood.

"What the fuck is happening to me?" He heard her whimper. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to ignore the pain coursing through his shoulder.

"PTSD."

He crouched on the floor, taking her in his arms. There was no fight left in her; her eyes were looking at nothing. She wasn't here anymore. As he pulled her weight from the ground the pain coursed through his left arm like fire. He walked her to the bed, laid her down and went back to patch her up. He cleaned the blood from the corners of her mouth, and the sweat of her forehead, and the tears in her cheeks.

When she closed her eyes and fell asleep, exhausted by what just had happened to her, he got up from the bed, walked to his own room, took off his shirt and started bandaging his own shoulder.

Two hours later, when he walked into her room bringing her food, he found her huddled in a fetal position. She looked up towards him.

"I'm sorry." Morgan swallowed hard. He walked towards the night-table, set the plate on it, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I should've reacted better. Won't happen again, ok?" She shook her head violently and pursed her lips. He sighed and put an arm around her shoulders. "Shhh… no need to cry. Nothing happened. It's all good."

She moved towards him and he jumped in alert, but as she nestled her head against his chest his fight-reflexes went mute. He held her close and she snuggled against him.

Two or three hours must've passed that way; in total stillness.


	4. Your Fair Maiden

**Your fair Maiden**

He had to tell Ezekiel eventually. They went on a couple runs together, as payment for his majesty letting them stay at the Kingdom, and the man had wondered about the bandage one day. Carol's bite on his shoulder could be confused with a walker's and he didn't want the people to get scared. The king had laughed as if his story was one of the funniest things he'd ever heard. He didn't even seem a bit apprehensive by the fact that Carol had involuntary attempted to kill a man she knew in a place full of people she didn't know. Then again, considering he lived with a giant siberian tiger…

"Back when the world wasn't crazy I was a zookeeper. I was there when Shiva was born, held her in my hands when she was the size of a kitten. One day she fell out of her exhibit down into the deep moat that protected her from the patrons. She ripped her leg open on the way down. It was really bad, she was going to bleed out. The vets weren't going to get there in time and I had to do something, so I jumped into the moat to help her. I got my shirt tied around her leg and pressed hard. Poor thing thought I was the cause of all her pain. She slashed me across the gut…" He lifted his shirt and Morgan saw the three claws branded on his belly. They were huge. "When you work with wild animals, you know the risk of approaching them if they are feral. This was my fault as much as it was hers but… I saved her life. And in the end I lived as well… and after that she never so much as showed a tooth in my direction… it was like she was sorry." There was a long silence in which Morgan just looked at Ezekiel. "Feral creatures are just animals in pain. That's all. They do not mean to harm you, it's an instinct of self-preservation." They walked across the empty yard until they reached the stairs and sat on them. It was late at night in the Kingdom and most people were already sleeping. "Most don't have the patience or guts to deal with bites and punches, but you do. And I admire that."

"I don't know I would've jumped into a pit with a maddened tiger."

"No, you wouldn't have. No one is braver than the King." Zeke attempted to put a hand on his left shoulder and he instantly moved out of range, hearing him laugh. "How many times has she tried to kill you already? Six? Twelve?"

"Two." He corrected him.

"I heard it was four."

"Four times she threatened me, two times she meant it, and the second doesn't count." Zeke raised one eyebrow.

"Bro…"

"She's complicated." The king snorted and shook his head.

"Takes real guts to not stay away from that situation. But I guess you have your reasons."

"Someone did the same for me once." Eastman. He had told Carol about him and she'd listened intently, watching him with a tender smile on her lips.

"Wow." The sound of soft paws walking across the yard alerted both men that they had company. Shiva came walking in all her majesty; her orange fur and black stripes hitting the light of the moon. She was a gorgeous creature, though still a little scary. Morgan wasn't as used to her as the rest of people in here. The tigress purred against Ezekiel's leg and raised her yellow eyes at Morgan, watching him closely. "I like her a lot. Feisty thing that she is, always wanting to murder me every time I make a bad joke."

"Who are we talking about?" Morgan asked, not sure if he was referring to Carol or his pet. Ezekiel laughed.

"Carol. Your fair maiden. Cause lately she's the only thing on your mind." His brows knitted together at that. Of course she was the only thing on his mind nowadays; he had left everything behind to go after her, he had killed for her and now he was taking care of her. What else was he supposed to focus on? Rick working things out with his community a hundred miles away? "I've seen the way you treat her. Are you sure you want her to leave?"

That dreaded subject once more.

"She loves her people. Alexandria is her home."

Carol had made it very clear from the moment they came here that she didn't plan to stay very long. Just until her wounds healed and she could go. Back then Morgan had planned to do the same, but now his relationship with Ezekiel and Richard was growing; and the people seemed to like him, more than the people in Alexandria; and he felt that somehow he belonged here more than anywhere else.

He couldn't exactly pinpoint what was different about this place. Maybe the King himself; maybe the fact that he hadn't walked in on him savagely murdering a man. Anyhow, this was the place Eastman had imagined they would come to. Not Alexandria.

And if he decided to stay here, Carol wouldn't stay with him. She belonged in the Safe-Zone, with the family she had created and helped to protect. He wasn't part of that family.

"I will miss you if you go, my friend." Ezekiel said, reading his thoughts as usual. "I like talking to you. You never talk much, but you listen. That being said you should go with her… I don't think I've ever met two people more annoyed and in love with each other as you two."

"We are not in love." Morgan answered, confused. Ezekiel threw him a look.

"Don't lie to the old man. These eyes have seen life."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Morgan got up abruptly. Shiva, sitting next to her master, showed him her teeth, but Ezekiel put a hand on her back, calming her.

"It's getting late, I should go back." Morgan said. The King smiled gently at that.

"Your fair maiden will be asleep by now."

"Doubt it. She's got insomnia."

"Like most of us."

As he came into the place he shared with Carol he passed by her room and found the door open and the lights still on. She was on the bed, reading Les Miserables. Her eyes turned to him and she smiled.

"Where were you?" she asked in a scolding manner.

"With Ezekiel and his girl."

"He's got a girl I didn't know about?"

"I meant Shiva." She giggled at that and patted the empty side of the bed, calling him in. He sighed and rested his staff against the doorframe before coming in.

"Shoes off, mister."

"Yes ma'am." He lay down next to her as she changed the page. "In which part are you?"

"Eponine's death." she said, softly, concentrating more on what was written on the pages than on him. After a few seconds she turned her sight away from the book. "Come here, little Duane, I'll read to you until you're asleep." He smiled at that. He'd used that phrase with her too, only with her girl's name. It was painful, but maybe when they said it to each other it didn't hurt that much. He cradled his head in her stomach as she started reading out loud, one of her hands brushing his temple gently:

" _She let her head fall back upon Marius' knees and her eyelids closed. He thought that poor soul had gone. Eponine lay motionless; but just when Marius supposed her for ever asleep, she slowly opened her eyes in which the gloomy deepness of death appeared, and said to him with an accent the sweetness on which already seemed to come from another world:_

 _"And then, do you know, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little in love with you._ "

* * *

A/N: Les Miserables doesn't belong to me, neither does Walking Dead. I took Ezekiel's speech right out of the comic aswell.


	5. Here for each other

**Here for each other**

Her leg and arm throbbed like they were on fire, hindering her sleep. She couldn't decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. Sooner or later she always collapsed from exhaustion, and woke up two or three hours later crying, or completely lost in her surroundings. The doctors of the Kingdom had advised her not to cut off the painkillers but she'd done it regardless. She would take this pain and make it her own. It was sort of welcoming to feel something again.

Almost six weeks had passed since they had arrived at the Kingdom. She still didn't know what on earth she was doing, being alive and weaker than ever. Maybe this was a sign from that god she had stopped believing in, telling her to fuck off. That death was way too gentle a fate for a sinner like her.

Morgan would say all of this was happening for a reason. That this wasn't her time. As if he had some supernatural knowledge of the creator's plan. She used to roll her eyes at him whenever he came up with stupidities like that.

He was lying next to her, flinching in his sleep. He was more tired than her today. Zeke had worn him out with his training.

She liked to watch both men train. Zeke had promised her he would teach her some moves as soon as she got on her feet again. She wondered whether she would ever be as good as Morgan or Michonne. Her skills weren't exactly one on one combat unless they involved a knife and sneaking around her prey, which she couldn't do with trained martial artists. Still that didn't mean she couldn't learn. She'd learned an awful lot since it all started.

Morgan spasmed violently in his sleep and out of impulse she grabbed his shoulder. He woke up and for a minute looked more lost than she had ever seen him.

"You ok?" He looked at her, his eyes running up and down her face in a way that made her belly tighten. After a couple seconds he exhaled.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" She shook her head.

"You were having a nightmare."

"Hmm…" he nodded. "I haven't had them in a long time."

"So, why now?" He remained silent and she instantly knew he was keeping something from her. She waited for answers in silence, but he just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, Carol. I'll deal with it on my own."

 _On your own, huh?_

When it came to their friendship everything seemed to revolve around her. Her problems, her traumas… him dealing with his own demons after having just killed a man for her was something he kept so concealed it pissed her off. They were friends now. Close friends. Circumstances had pulled them together and now she cared for him. If he was having difficulties, she wanted to know. She wanted to help him if she could.

"You can tell me, you know? We're here for each other." He smiled at that, as if hearing it made him genuinely happy. There was a brief moment of silence and he finally made up his mind.

"It's no big deal. I just dreamt that you died."

"Was that really a nightmare?" She asked sarcastic and he snickered a little bit. He swallowed and looked up at the sealing.

"Back at the farm… with that man that shot you. I dreamt I got so mad that I…" He exhaled again. And that was it. He didn't say another word. The wheels turned inside her head as she tried to figure out what exactly Morgan would've done to that man had he arrived too late. Torture him? Punch him to death? Set him on fire? Let the walkers eat him alive? Disembowel him?

She flinched and moved a little closer to him. As if in answer, he raised his arm and passed it under her head, holding her against him.


	6. Never Hurts

**Never hurts**

The edge of the blade turned around his finger, almost cutting it. He didn't seem to care, mesmerized as he was, admiring the exquisite work of the blacksmith. Carol's own eyes were taken by the sight. She didn't think such polished work existed in the post-apocalypse.

"One of our best works. Almost rivals mine." The leader of the Kingdom commented, unsheathing his shikomizue and letting the light impact on the gorgeous blade. "Of course, there's nothing like this baby in the whole planet anymore." The woman rolled her eyes. Ezekiel was way too arrogant for her liking sometimes. Though, at least he accepted that he was.

"I know a woman whose katana could cut you in half." she said before she could stop herself.

"Carol…" Morgan warned. Ezekiel's booming laugh resonated across the house.

"I enjoy you, fair maiden. You're still as irreverent as you were when I first met you."

"First time you met me you almost threw your kitten at me." His giant, orange kitten with black stripes across her back. She still trembled a little at the sight of it.

"How much will it cost me?" Morgan asked the King, holding the spear-head up. Carol threw him a sideways glance.

"A few more runs with my people to scavenge the towns nearby. Negan's always watching, so my guys will have to sneak through the forest. It's never safe. You're one of the best fighters I've seen." Morgan nodded as if it was no big deal and something in the back of her head stung. The Saviors and the Kingdom weren't particularly fond of each other. Just before they got here, Negan's men had killed one of Ezekiel's entire squads. Was her friend really going to go out there, putting himself at risk, for a stupid spear-head?

"We should negotiate what 'a few more runs' means then." She said, accommodating better in her chair. The King and Morgan turned to look at her; one intrigued and the other surprised.

"The fair maiden fears for her knight's safety?" Zeke asked in an amused tone. She glared at him and he got uncomfortable. Out of all the people she'd met here, Zeke was the person who got the most nervous whenever she got under his skin. Made her wonder if his calm demeanor wasn't just a façade that hid deep insecurities. "I don't ask for much, my friend. You are guests at my Kingdom. And those spear-heads have never been cheap."

"Morgan's services aren't cheap either. How many warriors with his skills do you have in your power? How many deaths have been prevented by him already?" Zeke weighed her words, scratching his chin in deep thought. He was a good man, and fair. He knew she was speaking the truth.

"There are two ways of arguing with women and neither one works." He said, giving Morgan a knowing look. He finally sighed, defeated. "Two more runs."

"Sounds fair." She turned her gaze towards Morgan with a victorious smile. The man was still a little stunned at the fact that she'd just advocated in his behalf. If he only knew how many times she had done that already, with Tara, Rosita, Eugene...

She preferred not to think of that.

"Can I ask one more thing of you?" Zeke raised an eyebrow at the other man's question. Morgan pointed his head towards Carol. "This lady here likes knives. I'd ask your blacksmiths to make a long one for her."

It was Carol's turn to be taken aback. She didn't show it, though.

"A tanto?" Zeke questioned, a sly smile that could mean all kinds of things appearing on his lips.

The woman turned towards her friend.

"I never asked for…"

"It's a gift." Morgan interrupted her. "For when you get better." He turned to the King again. "How much?"

"That one gift is on me." Zeke remarked, winking at Carol. "Maybe I'll even have one of my guys teach you the basics of one-on-one combat."

The basics… like she needed to learn basic one-on-one combat. She'd almost kicked Morgan's ass. Twice. Keyword there was almost.

"I can handle my own with a knife."

"This will be no ordinary knife, fair maiden. A tanto is an ancient japanese weapon. A martial arts weapon." The woman's eyes widened. She threw a sideways look at Morgan, who nodded in approval. "With a tanto and some training you can become the deadliest woman alive. Maybe even deadlier than that friend with the katana you talk so much about."

The deadliest woman alive. Never weak again. Never taken by surprise. Capable of killing anyone. She liked and dreaded the idea at the same time.

"Would you like to learn?" Morgan asked. She turned to look at him. _You know what I'm capable of. Do you really trust me that much?_ There wasn't a single hint of doubt in her friend's eyes. And that in itself terrified her.

"Never hurts." She muttered, and the King and Morgan flashed her charming smiles. They were more excited about this than herself, she realized.

It was good to be able to walk again without vibrating pain running across her leg every time she took a step. She still wasn't able to run or squat or do much exertion, but a couple more days would do. She'd miss Morgan carrying her around bridal style, though. Those had been the only times they'd had an excuse for this nonsensical physical proximity they now shared. Now that she could move on her own and fend for herself they weren't justified anymore.

She knew it wouldn't change. They would still share their nights lying side by side in a bed waking the other up when he or she was having a nightmare. They would still find ways to bump shoulders or knees or hands. He'd still find excuses to take care of her and she'd still find excuses to be mad at him. They'd still read to each other every night before going to sleep. They had finished Les Miserables by now. But Moby Dick looked like a good prospect. At this pace they could become english majors. Not that that mattered in this sort of world anymore.

There had never been a good pretext for this proximity, not even when they hated each other. It was just natural. Two polar opposites attracting each other like a magnet.

Feelings like these were unavoidable. They were harmless; or at least that's what she told herself. She preferred to push every interaction they had to the back of her head and just not think about it much.

"You know that if I get trained and then try to kill you again I won't fail, right?" She commented as they made their way through the place filled with people running here and there doing their chores.

"How many more times can I escape anyways?" Morgan answered, shrugging. Not many, Carol thought. They shared a careful glance.

"Why the spear-head?"

Pause. She saw the conflicted look in his eyes as he thought carefully on how he should answer her question.

"Cause I need to start again."

He didn't say the word. Killing. He meant killing. And his reluctance showed, clear as water, that he wasn't ready. She had expected his answer. Didn't make it easier to hear it. Not now that she knew him so well. It had been easy for him once; when he was feral and damaged like her. But now that his wounds had healed it would become ten times harder. Like the time he'd been forced to kill for her. For every time you took a human life away, one of those recently healed wounds opened again.

She wondered about herself. How she would fare when she was out there again confronted with the choice of killing. It would happen eventually. Sooner rather than later, for a war was coming. Her wounds hadn't healed completely; she was still bleeding from the inside; questioning herself on every turn.

But at least she knew what she was. Morgan wasn't sure.

"You don't have to." She told him. "But it… would be wise to add something pointy to that stick of yours. Never hurts."

Morgan smiled at that. Her white lie was conveniently ignored by both of them. Another excuse without real justification.


	7. But at least I can tell

**But at least I can tell**

The weapon was too long and heavy to be a knife and too short and light to be a machete. Its paradoxical nature confused her. She was used to the rough fighting style Daryl had taught her: it was rather simple. Ezekiel's teachings made this process three times more complicated: keep your center, think before hitting, keep calm, wait for the attack, pay attention to your opponent's moves.

"You're not handling a machete, Carol, pull yourself together!" her adversary deviated her hit and she felt the edge of his fake practice-knife against her own rib. She was dead again. Great. She moved out of reach, heaving with exertion. Behind her, Ezekiel kept on shouting instructions. "Remember what I told you! The knife on the back of your hand!"

She took a deep breath and rooted herself in that very moment. She felt the weight of the knife in her hand; trusted it. This wasn't the rough survival-fight she was used to; this required skill and attention. Fluidity; grace; calmness. Ezekiel had told her he saw her as water: adaptable and fast; light enough to be molded but strong enough to pierce through stone. She could adapt into any form she wanted if she flowed in that certain direction.

She could do this.

Her adversary charged against her. Her feet found their center as both knives clashed against each other and she used her achieved equilibrium to turn around and evade the knife. Her adversary turned but it was too late. Her own practice-knife dug its edge in the soft skin of his neck.

Morgan smiled at that.

"That's my girl…" He commented, and just when Carol was about to claim victory, he pushed the fake blade she hadn't noticed against her stomach. "We both lose. More attention next time." Morgan wasn't water. Morgan was stone. He was strong and stable and immovable at times. Zeke usually called him a rock in the sea and she was sure he had added their relationship to that metaphor.

"Good, good. Let's call it a tie." Zeke said as they pulled apart. "I think you've met your match, Morgan. She's learned fast."

"She's a force of nature." Morgan responded, looking at her with such pride it made her blush. _Oh you sweet knucklehead,_ she thought, smiling. It was short lived, though, as she felt a sting across her leg once more. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Just this damn leg of mine." She lifted it from the ground and pressed a hand against it, softly. It usually happened when she worked it out too much. Nothing to be concerned about, but definitely not an enjoyable experience. Morgan turned to Zeke with worry. God, he had to tone it down a bit, it was nothing critical. Before she could stop him, however, he was already kneeling next to her.

"May I?" He asked. She nodded and goosebumps ran down her spine as his strong fingers ran up her knees, pressing gently against her thigh. Zeke snorted in amusement. Him and Carol shared a look of 'you know how he gets'. Morgan must've definitely been one of those overbearing parents who would put a sweater on their son if they heard him sneeze once.

They sat on the benches of what had once been the school's gym, watching as Zeke's other men trained with swords, spears, armor, knives, all types of weapons for one-on-one combat. Carol had noticed, however, that they didn't have much of a target-practice area. She and Morgan had exchanged worried glances the first time they'd noticed.

These people had ran out of ammo. They had guns, but couldn't use them. That was dangerous.

They were all great warriors, but against an armed group like the Saviors they stood no chance. And yet, in an effort to preserve his community's integrity, Zeke continued to stand against them. He'd have to find a solution quick, or Negan would grow tired of his cat and mouse chases and come at them with full force.

"You should stay here." Zeke claimed. "My people likes you; and you like them. You're good warriors, both of you. This is where you belong."

"We have a home already." Carol said.

"You do. He doesn't." The King pointed at Morgan with his head. Carol felt as the blood in her veins turned ice cold all of a sudden. She glared at Zeke in such a way that the King's expression turned fearful. "I'm sorry." He stammered. "Don't mean to make you guys uncomfortable. Just letting you know the option stands."

Morgan kept silent, looking anywhere but them. Carol got up abruptly and almost regretted it. She strapped the fake practice-knife to her hip, next to the real tanto, and extended her hand towards Morgan.

"We gotta go back. Come on." The man and the King looked at each other apologetic. As Morgan got to his feet next to her and grabbed his staff, he bowed his head at him.

"I'll see you around, my friends."

As if Zeke meant both. She knew he only meant Morgan. He was fond of her but not in the way he was fond of him. There was an unspoken understanding between both men that only made her angry. Zeke wouldn't steal Morgan away from her, or from Rick, or from the community he really belonged to.

She half dragged her friend out of the gym as quick as she could. The sun was setting; they walked in silence, her hand holding his tight, as if trying to glue them together so that he'd have no other choice but to come with her, and not stay at this stupid place full of stupid people that didn't get him as much as she did… after a moment she attempted to calm herself down, only to discover a thick cloud of fear starting to form around the idea that Morgan might not want to come back.

"I wish we had our own kitchen." She said in a completely normal tone. "I miss cooking. When we come back, the first thing I'm gonna do is cook you one of my master casseroles. You're gonna love it." The awkward tension that had settled between them after what Zeke said didn't dissolve. Morgan was smart enough to see through her cover-ups. He knew she was upset and trying to talk him out of staying. They went back to walking in silence, until he stopped and made her turn towards him, their hands still conjoined. "What is it?"

"Ezekiel's right about me. Don't you think I belong here?"

"No." She answered, a little too quick and defensive. Morgan's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Why?" She opened and closed her mouth, thinking of an answer. A storm was starting to form inside her chest and she felt a lump in her throat. He couldn't be really considering it. _Don't do this to me. Not after everything. Don't leave me alone after I've grown to appreciate you. To lo…_ she forced herself to stop.

"He just wants to steal you away because you're a good fighter." The venom in her voice was obvious even though she made a considerable effort to hide it. Pretending didn't work with Morgan, but she wasn't going to admit it. No. Admitting this to him was admitting it to herself and that was what made things hard. "Besides, Rick needs you back there."

Morgan sighed in frustration. He was aware of her hiding her true feelings from him, but he didn't bring it up. _You're not being honest, but at least I can tell._

"I'm just trying to figure out where I belong." Her hand squeezed his harder.

"You will." She assured him.

 _Once you figure out that you don't belong anywhere away from me._


	8. Any less brutal

**Any less brutal**

It didn't take him long to realize he loved her.

He had expected it, and yet it wasn't any less brutal.

One night, amidst the stillness that used to settle between them when they had nothing left to say to each other but didn't want to be apart, he had looked into her eyes and known immediately.

No, it wasn't a crush. No, it wasn't lust.

He loved her so much it was sort of ridiculous.

He loved the ghost of her smile, and the sadness it hid underneath. The way she suffered in silence and covered her fears in layer after layer of I'm fine's. He loved her lips. Soft and perfect like a china-doll's. He loved her sweet blue eyes and how they looked at him: sometimes mad, sometimes peaceful, sometimes incredibly melancholic. He loved her cheekbones and her small, pointy nose. Every inch of her ivory, soft-looking skin. Her pronounced collarbone. Her lithe, warm body and the way it had felt when he'd carried it in his arms.

He loved the sound of her voice. When angry, when crying; her vibrating laughter, the sly hint of sarcasm in her tone. He loved being so much like her. Even though he didn't love the circumstances that had lead up to that. He loved that in such a silent way they understood each other like no one else understood them. He hadn't loved pulling the trigger, but he loved the fact that she was alive because of him. He loved the way she hate-loved him. The fact that whenever he caught her staring at him she immediately looked away or threw him a murderous glance as if he was the one doing something wrong.

He loved her. He felt it in every fiber of his body whenever she touched him; whenever she lay close to him on the bed, unaware of his raging effort to stop himself from taking her in his arms and burying his face in the crook of her neck. Whenever he thought of telling her he forced the words back down his throat. Whenever she took his hand in hers his entire being wanted to throw himself at her and hold her against him. And he smothered the supplicant voices inside him until they went mute.

He held back intentionally. He knew what to do with women; how to approach them. He was out of practice by a lot, but he could still try and be successful. Especially with someone like Carol, whose debts he had navigated. The chance was there, growing stronger every day.

Had he been the man he was before, he would've taken it. He would've found a way to sneak his hand behind her neck, stroke her unruly grey hair and pull her close to him. He would've kissed her; pushed her against a wall, taken her hands in his and pinned them on each side of her head. Kiss that lovely collarbone and relish in the sweet sound of her sighs. His hands would've ran through that white skin, hungry, wanting to tear her open so that he could squirm inside her, curl up between her lungs, next to her beating heart. For every cigarette she had smoked he would've given her ten kisses, until her lips were sore and pink. He would've made her nails claw to his back, unintentionally marking him. He would've marked her as well, deliberately, on her neck, on the inside of her thighs.

Had he been the man he was before…

But that man was gone.

The man he was now was a ghost who had loved and lost. The man he was now could not love another woman without the fear of losing her or the guilt over his dead wife overtaking him. Moreover, the man he was now could not love a woman without making her the sole reason of his existence.

There was nothing in this world he loved anymore. No wife, no son. Maybe that was what kept him sane; his lack of attachment. Some wounds healed with time, some remained open. He would not watch her die aswell. His sanity wouldn't stand it.

She had caught him staring at her, deep in thought, lost in his incessant craving for her. Her eyes were now a storm: defensive and questioning. He didn't look away; that wasn't his style. He just smiled and rejoiced in the way she averted her gaze, eternally bugged at him.

The fire couldn't be quenched now. He had expected it, from the first moment he saw her approach him. It didn't make his realization any less brutal.


	9. It's time

A/N: The narrative point of view in this chapter is all over the place. Forgive me. First and last time this happens, I swear.

* * *

 **It's time**

"One of these days I'm gonna cut Richard's throat with this tanto. You just wait and see."

"Carol…"

"I really hate him. And you too. So, so much."

"I know sweetie."

"Don't call me sweetie."

"Fine, mrs. Peletier."

"That's better." Carol's constant antagonizing of Richard and Ezekiel was hilarious to see. If in the past she'd always pretended to like people, now she always pretended to hate them all. It seemed as though she was constantly mad at the entire world. And the contrast of her grumpy behavior against the whimsy attitude of the Kingdom inhabitants was priceless. Morgan knew that deep inside she liked the King; and the people from this community; and him.

"Sit down, before you fall down." He asked and she obeyed, flinching at her tired muscles. "I have news. Zeke received a letter." She froze in place, knowing instantly what that meant.

"What did it say?"

"Paul is coming here. With Rick. Going to request troops."

"Troops?" _Yes, troops. A war is coming._ Morgan thought, anxious. Negan wasn't the small fish Rick and the Safe-Zone had judged him as at first. Negan was a freaking shark ready to turn over the entire boat. They had made a big mistake by hitting him in the back and now, unless they fought, he would eat them alive. Could they win against him? Maybe. The 50/50 chance didn't look that promising. Carol bit her lip. "How long till they're here?"

"Couple weeks. They need to avoid the Saviors." It wasn't easy with those cockroaches having outposts everywhere and watching every move the communities made. "We don't have to meet them Carol. Zeke could tell them we're on a run or something…"

"Don't be ridiculous." She interrupted. She couldn't just avoid them, they were her family. And yet she didn't feel exactly ready for this confrontation. During her time here she had gotten used to one person only. To one situation in a place full of people without much attachment to her. She had gotten used to being sincere about her brokenness. And if they came back that would all be over. She missed them all; everyday she missed Daryl and Judith and Rick and Maggie… but she had a role in that group: that of the den mother. And a broken den mother was something they didn't need to deal with. Something they didn't need to see. "It's been two months. I think it's time."

"Maybe you're not ready." As usual, he had read her exact thoughts. No, she wasn't. But what else could she do? She would have to clean off her tears and put on her mask again. And she expected it would be easy to slip back into the role of the strong, fearless woman, without Daryl or someone else wanting to peak underneath her armor.

"I'll decide that myself."

"I didn't say I would decide for you…"

"I know." She cut off the fight before it started. They had both discussed long enough about them making decisions for the other. It was a mistake they were both guilty of. "What's gonna happen to you now?" Morgan didn't look at her and she felt the vile in the back of her throat. "You won't leave me any time soon, will you?"

"Did you think I would?"

"I know you want to stay here." She was trying damn hard not to show just how much she disagreed with that choice. The subject of him staying in the Kingdom couldn't come up without her getting overly emotional. "They are our people, Morgan…"

"They are your people. And you know I don't belong there."

"Rick is your friend."

"He was. Once. But I don't know him anymore." Carol was ready to keep on going but Morgan stopped her. "Please. Let's not fight right now, let's just… we have two weeks to settle things back to where they were before all this… started. For today, I think the news are enough."

He was right. Carol looked down at her fingers nervously tapping on the table. Stability had been broken and she just now realized how nice it had been. You never appreciate something until you lose it. The entire world was falling back into its chaotic place and all the decisions and problems that had been kept in a standstill after they got to the Kingdom were now swarming around them furiously.

 _The world doesn't decide, you decide. You don't get to walk away and get what you want._

"I need you there." She mumbled. "Things have been going well for a while. Your presence calms me down, you know what to watch out for... If something gets out of control, I want you to be there." It was the first time she admitted to needing him. She had needed him before, of course. For a very long time she had needed his help phisically and mentally. But she'd never openly admitted it. He was always the one with the initiative. And it made him seem a little smothering, but here she was, asking him to stay with her. It honestly shocked him.

The words came out of his mouth like an instinct; he couldn't do a thing to stop them.

"If you go, I'll go. That's the deal. For as long as you need me." He was just doing it for her, but it didn't matter. She smiled and reached for his hand across the table. Their fingers intertwined.


	10. The breath of life

**The breath of Life**

They had buried Glenn's body at the Hilltop. Maggie's decision.

Another one gone. Another weeping widow having lost her entire family. Another child who'd never meet his father.

Her heart had shattered into a million pieces when she'd heard. Glenn… that one ray of light amidst the darkness. He'd always been the one who helped, the one who believed in people, the one who didn't kill. He'd always escaped death by a hair; always came back against all odds.

The last good man; one in which was the breath of life.

Not this time. Never again.

"You did well to leave, Carol. Stay in the Kingdom. It's best for you."

Maggie's words shocked her, cold as stone and furious.

Her fears had come true, of Maggie's heart hardening like it should never have. Back when they'd both been taken hostage by Paula's group, Carol had tried to stop it from happening. Maggie was supposed to be someone else. She and Glenn were supposed to be the noble people. The ones who would live instead of just surviving. The ones whose child would be truly saved.

This world was cursed and broken, and if its survivors were forced to turn into monsters, they could at least prevent others from becoming the same. But goodness had its price and it was way too expensive in a world like this where nothing was right anymore.

"Maggie, you can't stay here. We need you."

"I'm never going back there. This is Glenn's home now. This is where I'll stay."

"He's dead." A lethal silence followed Carol's words and she could almost feel the stone-cold hatred emanating from the soon-to-be mother. "And I'm sorry to say that, but he's dead and we are your family."

"He was my family!" Maggie snapped. "Dad, Bethy, they were my family! They're all gone! Because of Rick! And you! And me! I should've never made the arrangement. We shouldn't have attacked them, he was right; we didn't know shit."

"Maggie…"

"I want to see him dead. I want to cover my hands in his blood, I want to see his head crushed on the floor, like I was forced to see my husband's." Maggie's fists tightened. "One day, I swear to you…" She stopped, swallowed, and looked down. Revenge wouldn't change a thing and Maggie knew it. Glenn would still be dead after they'd gotten rid of Negan. It was all for nothing.

The wickedness of mankind was great on the earth, and every intent of the thoughts of its heart was only evil continually. And the Lord was sorry that he had made man. For the earth was filled with violence because of him; and behold, he was about to destroy it.

Maggie turned away from Carol and kneeled in front of her husband's tombstone, and the discussion was over. Carol walked away, searching for some place where she could be alone and away from prying eyes. Rain started to fall, heavy drops of water in the cold autumn weather. She heard doors closing as she walked past the wooden shelters. Some people running for cover.

She just let the rain wash her sins away.

The world outside didn't frighten her anymore. She almost begged for the storm to come, destroy the good and the bad and the monsters it had created. She dreamed of the day when all the fountains of the great deep would burst and the floodgates of the sky would open. When the rain would fall upon the earth for forty days and forty nights, and the water would prevail fifteen cubits higher, covering mountains. All flesh that moved on the earth would perish, birds and cattle and every swarming thing that swarmed upon the earth, and all of mankind.

But there would be no ark this time. None would enter it, no male or female of all flesh, no beast after its kind, no cattle, not a single creeping thing that crept on the earth. They would all drown in the flood, and the Lord would have blotted out from the face of the land every living thing that he'd ever made.

She sensed his presence behind her as she walked.

"You should stop following me." Morgan didn't answer. She turned towards him. "Before you ask… no. I'm not fine."

"That's why I'm here."

"Will I ever get rid of you?"

"One day. When you no longer need me." He came closer, put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her into an embrace. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and paid attention to his ragged breathing and the change of pace in his heartbeat. His arms covered her like a blanket and hers held onto him for dear life.

They were two. Male and female of their kind, in which was the breath of life.

And the Lord closed the door behind them.

* * *

A/N: loose quotes from Genesis 6 and 7.


	11. He was hers

**He was hers**

She would usually sleep much better if he was by her side. Much to her disappointment, this was no longer possible. It would've been kind of weird if they had come back to the Safe-Zone and started sharing a room or even a house. Everyone would've gotten the wrong impression. Even them for that matter.

There was something intimate growing between them.

From a start in which they didn't understand each other, to ending up sharing an unbreakable bond that they didn't want to let go of…

They weren't the same, that was the beauty behind it. They were so different; two polar opposites circling each other.

She was aware of the fact that all of her efforts to bring him back to Alexandria against Ezekiel's wishes were an attempt to claim him as hers. She had to be honest with herself, cause he wouldn't be. Not when it came to this. He was precious to her. Someone she would die for, like her family. Only he wasn't part of that family. He was exclusively hers.

Perhaps a part of him belonged to Rick as well; that one friend he was still loyal to. But deep inside she knew she was more important to him than Rick would ever be. And she liked that a lot.

He closed the book and exhaled, turning towards her. She'd barely been paying attention to what he'd been narrating, her thoughts had just wandered off to something else, despite that something being right next to her.

"Moby Dick is not your cup of tea, is it?"

"Is it yours?"

"Not really." they both smiled at that. "I read it when I was younger. But now, it all just seems so…"

"Trivial?"

"Yeah." He set the book aside. "Who the hell cares about whales anymore?"

"It would be nice to visit the sea again though."

"Maybe we could go. One day."

"You and me?"

"You and me. Alone in a boat. Hopefully we won't try to kill each other."

"We will. Trust me." Her head was resting on his shoulder, her body leaning against his. It wasn't unusual for them. What was unusual was her hand on his knee, but he didn't seem to mind. Or maybe he didn't notice. She did. And it got her thinking.

He was just a man. Not a follower, not exactly a leader. He tried his best to stand strong against a current that pushed and pulled him in every direction. She thought of the way he had made it alone in this new world; with almost no one by his side. With no family to protect and only a couple friends to lead him.

She admired him. Sometimes she didn't understand him, but amidst this ocean of people and walkers she was the one who accepted him. She didn't owe him less. Morgan had been there for her when no one else was. She was the one woman he had saved; the one woman he had killed for; the one woman he would protect with his life. She was precious to him. And that made him hers.


	12. Mother Father Mother

**Mother. Father. Mother.**

 _Lizzie._

The soft breeze in the meadow seemed to whisper her name.

Carol tried to ignore it, but the voice was so clear… chanting like a hymn.

 _Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie._

Sometimes, deep into the woods she could swear she heard Sophia calling her.

 _Mother. Mother._

They never went away, the voices of the dead. They were a part of her now.

Morgan's arms closed around her waist, so sudden she had no time to react. He pulled her body from the ground in a single swoop and she cried out as he swirled her around.

"Stop! You're such a man-child!" He chuckled next to her ear.

"I was talking to you. Where did you go?"

Here was not here when the sea of memories hit her, and he had an ability to tell whenever she wandered off. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him, and the playful air between them changed in a second.

"If I tell you something… about my past… will you promise not to hate me?" It took him a while to answer.

"I promise I'll try." She smiled and looked ahead. At the meadow washed by sunlight and all its treacherous beauty concealing awful memories. She looked at the flowers; the small ones with the yellow petals and their partners, the white little buttons that popped out showing their heads amidst the green sea of grass.

"Lizzie and Mika were sisters at the prison." She started.

Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie. All her demons unleashed from the heavy chains that kept them tied to that one lump in her throat.

Lizzie.

Mikka.

Sophia.

The breeze carried their names on purpose, reminding her of what she had done.

 _Mother. Mother. Mother._

"I'm sorry this happened to you." His voice came from behind her. It drowned the voices somehow. There was no shock in his tone. No judgement in his eyes when she turned to look at him, no fear or disgust in the way he approached her. She wanted to look at herself the way he looked at her right now. With no hatred for what she was, with no resentment for what she'd done. With plain acceptance. He saw her. Not the monster, not the mother. Not the broken woman either. Simply her, whoever she was underneath all these walls. Whoever was left of this constantly consumed and reborn woman. She turned away from him and he held her softly from behind, nuzzling gently against her cheek wet with tears. "But you know... you'll learn to live with it. One day."

They swayed together to the macabre melody of their memories. Softly. The wind kept on roaring around them, chanting names of lost children; lost son and lost daughters. Duane. Sophia. Lizzie. Mikka. And their voices could be heard calling from the deep woods.

 _Mother._

 _Father._

 _Mother._


	13. Don't kill Anyone for me Today

**Don't kill anyone for me today  
**

They came in, took what they wanted, left. The Hilltop had warned Alexandria to meet Negan's expectations for the time being. Otherwise the boss would get angry, and that was the last thing any of them wanted.

When it came to her… she knew her role and how to play it. She kept her head low, her mouth shut. Eyes on her feet, not raising them towards the men who approached her as if they owned her and everything around her.

She'd had a good teacher. Ed, son of a bitch she expected would be rotting in hell.

Nevertheless submission became harder to fake with every passing day and tensions kept on rising. Two weeks ago Negan had killed Spencer out of nowhere. He'd said he'd done it for Rick; getting rid of a potential traitor as a favor for the leader. Spencer's cowardice had lead him to suggest Negan should get rid of Rick. So Carol didn't feel sorry for the stupid young boy in any way when he met his end in a brutal manner.

But then Carl had gone nuts and sneaked into one of the freaking rigs headed to the Sanctuary. Shotgun in hand, he'd killed 5 of Negan's men. And that had pissed the leader off. Why he'd let the boy live was a total mystery.

Things after that just kept on getting worse. Now the Saviors behaved in a much more hostile manner. Daryl and Dwight had engaged in more than one confrontation Rick had to break off. Daryl felt betrayed. It wasn't in his spirit to be oppressed by outsiders.

Pretending to be slaves was a heavy chain to carry.

Today, it was no different. As she loaded the carts filled with supplies outside, she kept on feeling a pair of eyes following her closely. A couple armed Saviors was close to her, laughing as they talked. One of them was checking her out, and it made her blood turn cold in her veins. For a moment, she made the mistake of looking up, into the eyes of the man ogling her, and she wished she hadn't.

He was middle aged, skinny, with a mustache, and his predatory glance reminded her of the way her husband had looked at her little girl.

"That one." She heard him whisper as she passed by them. "If she's not taken I'd like to put my hands on her." She looked towards him with an expression of disgust and he noticed. By the time she gazed down at her shoes it was too late. He was coming towards her.

"What are you looking at, sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry." She took another cart in her hands and turned around, just to come face to face with him. Not yet, she couldn't give herself away yet.

"Are you now?" He asked. Her arms started to tremble. He noticed. "Let me help you with that…" She tried to fake frozenness, but as his hand came closer to her an instinctive rage overcame her and she moved out of reach violently. Some jars inside the cart went flying to the floor and shattered. The man looked from them up to her face. He took the cart from her hands forcefully and gave it to one of his friends, who was looking at the scene with a smirk. There was no other barrier between them and Carol took a step back, feeling genuinely threatened. She tried to move away but the man pushed her against the wall, blocking her way. Now she didn't know if she should start crying or stab his face out before he attempted to touch her once more. "You need to tone it down, nervous bunny. Those were our supplies you dropped. Negan will be mad if he finds out. Of course, I might keep my mouth shut if you just…"

"Leave her alone. Please." A voice behind them interrupted. They turned around and Carol sighed, a strange mix of frustration and relief overtaking her. Standing there was Morgan, as always. He had the magical ability to appear whenever she felt distressed. She didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Who are you?" The man with the mustache asked. Morgan's teeth were clenched hard, his eyes stone-cold.

"Doesn't matter."

"That's right. It doesn't." The man turned towards her again.

"I'm warning you." Morgan said, as if he hadn't gotten the hint. This time the entire group faced him, hands resting on the guns on their hips. Carol locked eyes with him and shook her head slightly, telling him to leave it alone. Of course he didn't. "You have rules. You don't take women from the communities that are already taken. Would you like me to ask him?"

This seemed to make the men uncomfortable. The mention of Negan, even if his name wasn't outtered, always seemed to keep them in check. One of them patted the mustached man on the back and told him something along the lines of 'It ain't worth it'. The man huffed, angry, and took a couple steps towards Morgan. Carol felt her own blood boil. He better not touch him, he'd regret it later.

"So is this your girlfriend? Sweet piece of ass… for a man like you."

They walked away. Carol moved away from the wall, giving the man who'd saved her yet again a reproving gaze.

"I didn't need your help."

"You never do, right? It's just crazy ole me, saving your ass every time." He took yet another cart in his arms. "You should stay away from them. Let me do this." She snorted at that. But as he slammed the cart on the floor of the truck with more force than necessary she realized he wasn't joking. He was angry.

The Saviors who had bothered her were now out of sight, but she was pretty sure that if they came back he would be ready to punch them in the face (and get killed in the process).

"So, what now? Should we pretend we're married or something? Should I hold your hand and kiss you to convince them?" She asked him trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work. "Hey…" He turned towards her, she walked to him and took his hand. "They were probably just putting up a show."

"Yeah, well… I didn't like it."

Something about that made her smile like a fool. Out of instinct, she nuzzled her nose against his. He regarded her with wide eyes, uncomfortable by their proximity, but that didn't stop her. Moving even closer, she pressed her lips against his for a fraction of a second and moved out of reach before he could even react. He didn't try to kiss her back anyways.

"Thank you. But just don't kill anyone for me today. Ok?"


	14. Sailor and the Tide

**Sailor and the Tide**

Red. The entire world around him turned to red whenever she was in danger. That burst of adrenaline he associated with horrible memories made every muscle in his body twitch whenever he saw some threat approach her, ready to jump, pull the trigger or punch the living hell out of someone. No one would hurt her. Not her. He would kill every single man in this world who dare put his hands on her without her consent. He would cut them off and throw them to the fire. Two of her loved ones had died in front of him. She would not be the third one.

 _I would kill for her… her… no one else. Her above everyone… her above everything…_

He rested his forehead against the cold wet wall of the shower. No, this wasn't right.

He was not the same man who had first come to Alexandria, sure of his vision and his principles. Things were more complicated in this world and he had accepted it. But that didn't mean he had to go back to who he was. He couldn't choose her over what was right. He couldn't choose her over his own principles.

 _You have no principles anymore._ whispered a voice in the back of his head. _You only have her._

It was true. This world was constantly proving him wrong, making and breaking his reasons to stay alive. She had appeared out of nowhere and he had held onto her when he saw his own beliefs start to crumble. Perhaps saving her had been duty; perhaps a way to save himself from madness, either way it seemed he had miscalculated the danger when he inadvertently turned her into his reason to keep on going. This woman, this force of nature… she had washed him away like a storm, from the peaceful shore he once inhabited. Now he was drowning in the sea, drunk in salt water and need for her. He had nothing else in the entire stupid world. Not his family, not his philosophy. He only had her.

The doorbell rang in the middle of the night, as he was getting ready to go to sleep. He instantly knew who it was. She was the only person who would visit him this late, although she had never done it before. When he opened, she was leaning on the frame, wearing no coat at the start of autumn. She knew he wouldn't dare leave her out there if she was freezing. Seemed so innocent in the way she rubbed her bare arms, pretending to be a shaky, fragile rose petal.

 _You cheeky flower, you._

"Did I wake you?"

"No." He answered as he let her pass. She went right towards the bedroom and once he came in he found her lying on his bed as if she was in her own house.

"Shoes off ma'am."

"Yes, mister." She kicked off her boots like nobody's business. "I was taking a walk, but Tobin's house is right around the corner."

"Was he on the porch?"

"You think I wanna find out?" He sat down on the bed, looking at her. Tobin… her ex-boyfriend, if he wasn't mistaken. He was a good man, sweet, amiable, wouldn't harm a fly… Morgan remembered the expression of heartbreak in his face the day Carol ran away; looking for reasons within himself as to what he had done wrong. He didn't know he wasn't the problem. "Don't!" Carol exclaimed as if guessing what was about to happen.

"What?"

"You're gonna start asking questions." Ha. She had read his mind.

"Don't you just hate me when I do that?" He smiled at her annoyed gaze. He knew she felt guilty for what she had done. It wasn't in her nature to be a heartbreaker.

"I hate you 80 percent of the time."

"And what about the other 20 percent?" She didn't answer. They lay in silence, side by side, looking at the sealing. "I've been thinking about what you told me. About those two girls… about the prison." Pause. "I know why you hate to mention them. Ed, Sophia, Lizzie, Mika. You've tried so hard to destroy the woman you once were. That weak woman who let herself be… stepped on… and hurt… Something bad happens and you destroy her over and over, to make sure you don't make those mistakes again. Until one day you find there are no more mirrors to destroy. There's only you, breaking, dying."

"It happened to you too?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you saved me?" He stopped before answering.

"Yes."

Something shifted in the silence that followed his words. He felt Carol's stare burning through his soul and turned towards her. Her eyes were warm. No, not just warm. Hungry. He knew a look of desire when he saw one. His entire body felt like it had just been thrown into the fire. So warm it hurt. He felt himself moving an inch closer to her. Suddenly the distance between them was gone, suddenly they were touching each other.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" She whispered in such a low tone he thought he would lose it. "Don't get any ideas. I'm just really tired."

He turned away, mortified, and the tension was gone as quickly as it came.

Out of place intrusive desire.

He couldn't really say no to her. She had trouble sleeping alone and probably hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since they left the Kingdom.

"I can stay on the couch." He answered.

"That's not how it works."

"How does it work?" She moved closer again, passing an arm across his ribs, pressing her head against his shoulder, her leg slightly entangling with his. He turned off the light at the night-table and accommodated himself to give her space across his chest. His fingers travelled through her hair, gently caressing her temple, and she sighed in satisfaction. Her breathing started to slow down after a couple minutes; before he knew it she was fast asleep, mumbling in her dreams.

He was more awake than ever, painfully aware of her warm body half on top of him. Her left breast pressing against his side, her leg further entangling itself with his, her fingers unconsciously brushing his rib, causing goosebumps. It was all too glorious; he wished he could have her like this for the rest of his life…

He was being so foolish… Even if she did want him, what guaranteed him that she wasn't just playing with his heart the same way she had played with Tobin's? He was just a warm body she used as a pillow whenever she needed comfort. He was just an appeaser of her nightmares. A friend she came looking for when she needed him.

He only had her. But she was the sea and he was a mere sailor drowning in her tide.


	15. His arms

**His arms**

She woke up from a peaceful, long, dreamless sleep. Something that hadn't happened in ages. Lost in the darkness of the room, she could feel only the warmth engulfing her. She couldn't move, but it didn't scare her. This soft cocoon wrapped around her made her feel safe at last.

As the haziness started to recede, she regained consciousness of where she was and what was happening.

Morgan. This was his house, his bed.

His arms.

He was curled up around her like the shell around a snail's fragile body. Her shoulder blades were pressed against his chest, his face slightly buried in her hair. She could feel his soft breathing on her nape, and it made goosebumps crawl down her back. Her head was resting on one of his arms, his other arm wrapped around her waist in a gentle but strong grip.

He had never gotten this close to her before.

Her hand brushed against his arm and in response his grip around her got tighter. She sucked in the air as she could now feel her lower back against his stomach.

Her natural reaction should've been to jump out of that bed, out of his hold, immediately. But she didn't do it. She lay there, eyes open, not a single muscle moving, afraid to breathe a little too hard and wake him. Every nerve in her body activated to a thousand, feeling him around her. All of him. His strong arms, his breathing, his hard chest against her skinny back…

When she came into his room last night with the excuse of not crossing paths with Tobin, some very irrational part of her brain had told her this was normal between them. Nights spent sleeping in the same bed, side by side, barely touching, had become routine when they were alone at the Kingdom. She just wanted to sleep, she was tired and unable to do it by herself. Or at least that was her excuse. One of those many excuses she was so used to making in order to ignore her conflictive feelings towards him.

This was far from normal, though. Her snuggling against him wasn't normal. Him holding her like this wasn't normal. Her kissing his lips, holding his hand, yearning for his touch and his warmth like some stray dog in winter, wasn't normal.

They weren't friends. She would never let a friend touch her like this; she would never feel this way for a friend, like her entire body was on fire and wanted to stay that way; she would never want to kiss a friend senseless; navigate every inch of his strong body with her hands; support his weight on top of her; tear him apart so she could crawl under his dark skin and beat in unison with his heart.

She would never enjoy a friend's hug this much. This perfect moment of complete stillness and comfort. This moment could last forever. It should last forever. She wanted to stay here in his arms forever.

The realization hit her like a train on a high-speed railway. A giant façade of denial broke right in front of her eyes, leaving her with nothing but the naked reality of her own feelings:

 _I didn't come here last night to escape Tobin, I came because I can't stand sleeping another night without him._

 _I came because he always makes me feel better; because he protects me and cares for me; because having him close eases this constant pain inside me; because maybe he's the only thing keeping me sane in this insane world._

 _I love him. His smile, his eyes, his voice, his touch, his stupid misconceptions, his hope, his existence._

Overwhelming didn't even come close to define what she felt right now. A faucet opened inside her releasing a storm of emotions she was utterly unable to deal with. She turned around in his embrace, waking him. He froze for a minute as he assessed their closeness and then jumped away, mortified.

"Carol, I'm sorry, I… in my sleep, I must've…"

"It's ok." she whispered, interrupting him. "I like it."


	16. No one said tigresses were easy

**No one said tigresses were easy**

Decomposing pieces of brain flew everywhere; the soil underneath his feet had become dark red and slimy. He went full psycho on the next walker approaching him, took it by the hair and slammed its head repeatedly against a tree until it was nothing more than a pulp allover his hands. Another rotten creature tried to grab his shoulder, but his spear pierced its throat before it could move another centimeter closer.

"That was just savage!" Richard cheered, next to him. "Come on!" He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the bus. Morgan went reluctantly. He was tired, bloody and incredibly furious, he needed to keep on killing things.

He hadn't felt like this since his "clear" days. Back then it had been much worse, but now all the fury was returning. Maybe the war approaching was making him nervous, maybe his lack of sleep had disoriented him, maybe it was her playing with his mind.

He couldn't get her out of his head no matter how hard he tried. The memory of her and the way she treated him lately kept on filling it with questions and unnecessary feelings of despair. _What went wrong? Why did I even dare to go so far? Could I have prevented it? Will she drift away forever?_

What made him angry was how perfect everything had seemed before and how in less than one day it all had fallen to pieces. That morning when she woke up in his arms had been glorious. He didn't remember feeling so peaceful, so happy, in a long time. She had gone back to sleep still cuddling him, completely comfortable with their proximity, her face buried in the crook of his neck as his jaw barely rested on her forehead. The way her arms hugged him had made him believe maybe she returned his feelings. It had been three hours of beautiful intimacy until the sun came up.

And then it all had gone downhill for no good reason. The next time he saw her she did her best to avoid him in any way possible. She just scurried away whenever he was in close sight. The one time they had gotten the chance to talk, she had been cold and edgy and asked him to leave her alone after just a couple words were crossed. It was as if their entire relationship had moved three steps forward and then abruptly regressed back to level one: to those awkward tension-filled moments after their fight in the basement.

And he didn't understand it for the world. If his proximity had scared her, why hadn't she said anything in the moment? Why had she gotten even closer? If this wasn't what she wanted, why had she given him all the signals? Why had she looked for him if she wanted him away? Just, what the fuck was going on with this woman and how could he even begin to understand her?

The most annoying part was he couldn't just forget her and move on.

He had never been good at that, and she had become such an important part of his life… the last person he truly had left…

He couldn't deal with her pulling away, not after everything, after everyone he had lost. It hurt so much he just wanted it to stop. And the only way to make it stop was to go out there and put himself in danger, extreme situations, anything that kept his adrenaline pumping, his pain on a leash and the thought of her off his head.

So when Ezekiel asked for his help transporting the school buses out of the Kingdom and into the Safe-Zone for the future plan of attacking the Sanctuary, he accepted right away. Maybe he should just go to the Kingdom after the war was over. Start a new life there, away from Alexandria's memories, from Rick, from her and her mixed signals…

The first thing he saw as the gates of the Safe-Zone opened for them was her petite figure walking towards him, fuming. The mission was supposed to last only a couple hours, instead, in an effort to dodge the Savior outposts they bumped right into two giant herds of walkers they had to clear out. By the time they came back, worn out and in extreme need of sleep, they all had new duties accumulated.

"Where have you been?" She asked him directly, looking like she wanted to start a fight. He didn't want it for anything in this world. He was done, having been dragged through mud and guts for a day and a night. Having been unable to get her out of his head. He just wanted the earth to swallow him, away from her and this stupid conflict and this damned apocalypse. He tilted his head towards the buses and grunted. "Francine was on watch until 3:30 last night. She had to take your shift because you were nowhere to be found."

"One more hour on night-shift, give him a break…" The King intervened, but Carol cut him off with one stare.

"No disrespect, your majesty. But don't get involved."

"No disrespect, woman. But get off my back." Morgan snapped, and both Carol and Ezekiel turned to look at him with eyes wide as plates. His patience was officially over. He needed a bath and a few hours of sleep immediately or else something in this community would break. He passed right past her, praying she'd leave it alone for now.

"Jones!" Carol yelled so high that all the king's men turned their heads towards the commotion. She walked up to his face, her head high and intimidating as if their height difference didn't exist at all. She looked damn attractive when she was angry and it just made his entire body shoot with adrenaline. "Let's get something clear, you're not Ezekiel's man, you are our man! And if we need you here on watch duty, you got no excuses to skip it!"

"Are you kidding me?!" He screamed. For the first time in ages. For the first time in her face. It took her aback, and everyone around him. The peaceful warrior had just exploded. The silence that followed his outburst allowed him to get his mind clear for a minute. He took a deep breath and stood firm right in front of her. "We've been out there all night, stuck on the road, dealing with herds of walkers, traveling through the forest so the Saviors wouldn't spot us, just so that this plan can work. Don't get in my face over skipping damn watch-duty."

"Why are you being an asshole?"

"I'm being the asshole?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't talked to me in a week. Last time I approached you, you snapped in my face for no good reason. And now isn't much different. I don't know what's going on with you, but you shouldn't take it out on me." He had instinctively gotten so close to her that their faces were just a couple centimeters apart. Neither of them backed off, they just stared at each other in utter anger. They were very capable of killing each other right now. And this primal tension rising between them just made him want to grab her by the hair, kiss her hard, rip her clothes off and take her right there in front of everyone. Incredible how all this hostility only made him crave her more.

He would never win the game with this particular woman.

"Alright you two! Don't make me bring the damn tiger out!" Ezekiel's voice came through, stopping them. Carol took a step back and walked away, and he watched her go. Even the sight of her retreating was titillating. Morgan cleaned the sweat off his brow and ignoring the people still watching in confusion, made his way back to his house. The King catched up to him, unwilling to give up. "What's going on here?"

"Beats me."

"Well, something must've happened, you two were inseparable a few months ago."

Morgan closed his eyes and shook his head. If he could only give an answer, but he was just as lost as everyone else. This woman drove him crazy.

"She's avoiding me for no damn reason." He explained. "Whenever I try to talk to her, she just explodes in my face. It's like we're back to when we first met. I thought we were over this already, you know? Guess I was wrong."

"Is that your excuse for treating a dame that way?" Ezekiel asked. He sighed. _I don't know. What's her excuse for treating me this way?_ "You were always the one to go talk to her, why is this time so different?"

"Because I'm tired of always being the one who repairs our relationship after she's literally torn it to pieces."

He'd always been the one to insist on keeping this bond. At first out of duty, then out of love. Whenever they had drifted apart, he had been the one to look for her again. He could've stayed at the Kingdom after it all happened, but he came here for her. Granted, she asked him to, but he was the one who made the decision. He was invested in this relationship to the bone. She… wavered between in and out, looking for him and then pushing him away as if he was a swing. Maybe she had never wanted this to happen. Maybe it had gotten out of hand. Maybe he was just a suffocating, controlling asshole trying to butt into her already problematic world.

All he knew was that he needed to let it go.

Ezekiel kept quiet for a bit, and it was quite welcoming. He didn't need sermons right now, he just needed to be comforted in silence.

He would go to the Kingdom after this was over. Give her space. Give himself a life.

Stop this nonsense.

"Have you stopped to think that maybe she needs you like hell now that the war is closer and she just doesn't want to admit it?" Ezekiel asked. _What does she need?_ He thought, _A platonic lover? A friend to cuddle and spend the night with? Someone to clean the dirt off her shoes? Someone who's heart she can rip off and break into a million pieces? Or maybe she doesn't know what she needs and she's just playing with the possibilities._ "Look, man, just leave your pride aside for one more day, what hurt could it do?"

"Ask that to the claw-marks on your stomach."

"Hey, I'm not dead, right?" The King shrugged. "No one said tigresses were easy. After all, they're a force of nature."

* * *

 _A/N: Ok, it's official. I have a fetish for comparing Carol to a freaking tigress. And yes, it's quite the sexual undertone. Come at me._


	17. The fever of love

**The fever of love**

The most self-deprecating, masochistic part of herself enjoyed the pain she was going through. Overwhelming love scared her even more than death. A boyfriend's embrace, the sweet words of a child, they were all a taste of what she'd bled for and lost despite her sacrifices. It was one thing to love Rick, Daryl, Maggie and Michonne: Family that would always be there, opening their arms to her. It was something different to burn with incandescent passion: deep seated, flowing through her veins, transforming that one person into a part of her, like a limb or a vital organ.

She had felt it before. With two girls she'd loved as if they had come out of her own womb.

Where were they now? Gone. So was every other person she had loved so intensely she'd burned for them. They had either hurt her or left her or died, consuming her to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes in her place. And so would he one day. If his light went out, if his warmth disappeared, she didn't want to turn into nothing but blackened dust, mourning him forever, wanting to die. So she resigned herself to the pain of being alone. It would be easier to stand or so she thought. God, how wrong she was.

It was torturous to stay away from him. The emotional distance between them made no sense and their physical proximity was unavoidable. Every time he entered the same room as hers she felt weak and lightheaded, as if she were recovering from a heavy fever. She craved for him like a convalescent craved for a blanket in the middle of the coldest night. Her feelings kept on growing, the distance acting as an enhancer instead of an extinguisher. After his outburst he stopped looking for her. The King and his army took her place once they moved into the Safe-Zone and the further he stalled from her, the closer he got to them. She had always wanted things that slipped between her fingers: Ed, Daryl and now him… the threat of losing him to a different community, a different family, perhaps even a different woman did nothing but worsen her desire for him.

But certainly the main punch to the gut came that day when, looking to run an inventory on weapons, ammo and grenades with Olivia, she bumped into him, fully covered by an armor she recognized well as the plump woman fastened it around his shoulders.

"Hey, Carol!" Olivia greeted her merrily. "Just a minute. The King asked me to fix this for Morgan. Said he deserved it as much as his own men." She felt a lump in her throat as she heard those words. Yeah, of course. Ezekiel wasn't dumb: He didn't go around offering new armors to every good fellow he met. This meant something; he was letting Morgan know he was one of their own now: no outsider, no alexandrian. Not hers. Theirs. All of her fears played in front of her eyes, this time imminent and clear as water. Carol gave Olivia her best fake smile, her insides stretching painfully in a knot. "How does it feel?"

The man rolled his shoulders and winced. It was obvious the pads restricted his movements, and he was used to move freely. With his abilities he hardly really needed an armor, which made Ezekiel's actions the more obvious.

"The pauldrons are still a little too tight." Carol snorted at that, and for the first time in weeks he turned to look at her. His eyes were colder than ever and yet they set her on fire in a millisecond.

"Not pauldrons, sweetie, shoulder pads." Olivia corrected looking at him like he was crazy.

"The King calls them pauldrons." Carol commented. With so much time spent together in the Kingdom, some of Ezekiel's antics had remained. And you could bet a man who called himself King and went around calling women 'fair maiden' and his own men 'knights' wouldn't hesitate in using the appropriate terms for medieval armors.

"And you decided to start talking like one of those freaks?" Olivia asked Morgan as he removed the pieces and handed them to her. "Plan on abandoning us once this is over?"

"Haven't made up my mind yet." He sneaked another dissimulated look towards Carol, which she noticed.

 _For as long as you need me. That's the deal._

Well, at least he kept his promises.

"This one's gonna miss you if you go. Ain't you, Carol?" Like a fish missed the water when marooned on the shore. Yes.

"Olivia, you give us a minute?" She asked in her sweetest, most commanding tone. Olivia looked at her like a deer in the headlights at first, but then nodded nervously and took a few steps backwards.

"S-sure. I'll be inside."

After the woman retreated, an awkward silence settled between them. Morgan opened the straps of the armor's plackart, huffing with discomfort. He was clearly expecting for her to say the first word. For a man who had swallowed his pride a hundred times before with her, he surely had let it build up this last couple of weeks.

"I went to talk to Francine. Apologized for not being there." He finally said, clearly so uncomfortable with the silence he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Carol sighed and shook her head.

"Wasn't your fault."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was extremely tired." He tried to remove the plackart, but it collided against the breastplate and got stuck. "Bloody thing…" she moved towards him and before he could prevent it her hands were unfastening the straps on the sides of his ribs, helping him. They hadn't been this close in a while.

"I've searched for you these past two days." she started. "You're avoiding me."

Another long silence.

"I got too close to you and it scared you away. Now I'm giving you your space." She looked up, confused, and found him staring right back at her. They were so close she could practically lean in and kiss him. He turned away, looking anywhere but her eyes. "And it's ok. I never intended to… suffocate you."

"You don't suffocate me." She helped him remove the pieces of armor and he threw them on the table, rubbing both his ribs and shoulders. He couldn't complain: a gift from a King was not to be slighted.

"Then what is it?" Carol swallowed hard. _Don't you see it, you fool? Can't you tell how much I love you? How scared I am of my own feelings? I was perfectly fine living in my own bitter hell. Why did you have to come and make it this much sweeter with your existence?_

"I don't know." She lied. "I just… this war is gonna kill people and I… I'm trying so hard not to freak out." The excuse rolled out her mouth so easily and yet its aftertaste was foul.

"Are you being honest?" He asked, facing her; this time when she looked back at him his eyes were softer. And their familiar expression warmed her heart. "This is serious. I need to know if something about that morning triggered you."

"It didn't." She wanted so bad to tell him, but the real words got stuck in her throat and she forced them right back in. He let the air out of his lungs, visibly relieved. She realized he had internalized all of this as his fault, thinking he was the one who had done something wrong. Oh, what a little dummy. After everything he'd gone through with her... She rested her chin on his shoulder, hand holding onto his forearm. One finger traced over the veins of his elbow pit. She knew how sensitive that body-part was, felt a mischievous kind of pleasure when she noticed his breath hitch a little, even though he was acting as if he didn't notice.

"You know it's ok, right? To explode with me. It's ok if you have to. I'd rather you did, I'm fine with it." She moved her head downwards, her lips pressing against his shoulder. There was something about his scent; it was manly but faint; refined; not overwhelming and not in urgent need of a shower. He smelled a little like the forest after a soft morning dew: of fresh soil and damp pine trees.

"I've threatened to kill you four times. How can you be fine with it?" She spoke against his skin. It was hot from the pressure of the armor.

"Only two of those were for real. And the second doesn't count." She smiled at that. "Bring it on: the knife, the teeth, the gun, I don't care. What I'm not fine with is you being distant. If you feel scared, angry, sad, don't pull away. You know how that goes. Come to me and I'll take care of you. It's what we do for each other, right?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you do all this for me?" He was speechless.

"Because you're…" He hesitated. "Because I care about you. Maybe… maybe more than I care about anyone else."

"Even Rick?"

"Much more than Rick."

Her heart skipped a beat. Rick was Morgan's last friend. Someone he'd known from the start of this nightmare. Someone he'd saved, someone who'd saved him. And she meant more than him. It was a general answer but it was enough. Slowly she felt her every vein and artery burst into scorching flames with no way to stop it. She hugged him tightly across the waist, burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. Awkwardly, he hugged her back. At first superficially, but when he noticed she wasn't letting go, his embrace got tighter.

And tighter.

His hand stroke her back gently, causing goosebumps. She nuzzled against him, her head resting on his chest.

"I want you to stay here." she pleaded softly.

"For as long as you need me." She could feel both their pulses beating crazy fast. Neither of them looked like they wanted to let go any time soon. This was perfect. Let this hug last forever. Maybe if he hugged her tighter he could crawl under her skin and make his nest inside her chest, where she'd keep him safe, where he'd beat in unison with her. Maybe that way they could merge with each other, turn into one person. Never apart again, never at odds.

 _Never let me go._

"Everything good here?"

The voice ruined the moment in a monumental fashion. Morgan practically jumped away from her as if she was poison ivy. She turned awkwardly towards the two people standing in front of them with confused expressions. Tobin and Daryl. Now that was just wonderful.

"Yeah, I…" She started. "We had a fight. We're just talking it over."

"Talking?" Tobin asked, one eyebrow raised towards her. His helpless jealousy was so poignant it made her feel like a monster. Daryl was behind him, silent as a ghost. Both men looked at Morgan as if they were planning on murdering him. He didn't seem phased by this. He gave her a complicit look and she nodded, turning in her heels and going into the house to look for Olivia, leaving him to deal with the inconvenience.


	18. Once seen

**Once seen**

 _She woke up with a scream, horrified by the nightmare, and the first thing she saw were his eyes staring right back at her. She didn't even remember well… children screaming, something about a monster under the bed, her teeth sinking into soft skin as the blood covered her completely, making her feel even hungrier… she curled up against him, a shaking blubbering mess, trusting he would protect her from whatever that had been. But how could he? The danger was not outside, it was inside her._

 _He held her against him and her fears started to dissipate. He was warm and soft and strong, and his closeness dazed her._

 _She was not herself when she was with him. And that was a good thing because right now she hated every fiber of her being, and he made her forget it. He made her leave Carol Peletier behind and become someone else. She didn't know exactly who: some essence of her being that had always been there but never this strong; that was intimately connected to him, encircling him as he encircled her._

 _"I need you." she whispered, and pressed herself against him with all her might._

 _His heartbeat quickened so much she thought for a minute he might be having a heart attack. His fingers closed painfully against her skin, as if he wanted to tear her apart. She felt him right against her leg and knew instantly how much he had been repressing his desire for her. Her eyes opened and looked at him, and the intensity of his stare almost made her insides explode. God, she wanted him, like he wanted her. This repressed desire finally coming to light made them both akin to beasts.  
_

 _He kissed her in a mix of passion and tenderness which was so distinctive of him and she answered with ferocity and need, her hands holding onto him for dear life. His fingers travelled under her blouse, his lips down her clavicle, making her whimper._

 _He pulled from her sweater, almost ripping it to pieces as he got it off her, and she tugged his shirt over his head so forcefully she almost slashed his back open with her nails._

 _He laughed silently as he took her in his arms, skin against skin, kissing her voraciously. She whimpered again as his fingers sneaked underneath her pants. He stopped and looked at her, searching for signs of alarm, but she bit her lip and nodded, and as he touched her softly, then harder, faster, deeper, she lost herself in a world of bliss, wondering why on earth she had had to wait 50 years to finally feel this way._

Carol woke up with a jump, covered in sweat and totally lost. It took her a while to realize she was not in Morgan's bed, not in his house and not in his arms.

This was her own house, she was alone and she had just dreamt of him.

The most heavenly dream she had had in a long time.

It made her both glad and ashamed to a point where she wasn't even sure how to feel about it. Of course she wanted him that way, all the time. But she had never openly thought about it, or fantasized how it would be. This had just come out of nowhere, probably from her repressed subconscious, which continued on denying certain aspects of her feelings towards him.

But once seen it couldn't be unseen. Once felt it couldn't be unfelt.

Once the thought had entered her mind it was there to stay.

Better this thought than any horrid memory. Better this dream than another awful nightmare.


	19. Two Hunters

**Two hunters**

Daryl had seen her with him before. He'd never given much thought to their rocky relationship or the fact that every time they were together inside a room they seemed like a cat and a dog about to jump at each other's throats. He was used to Carol being defensive with people she didn't trust. That wasn't something that bothered him.

But once they came back from the Kingdom something changed completely. In a way that seemed obvious. Morgan had saved her life, he had helped her. It wasn't a stretch to assume that they had become great friends. Everyone saw them as that, even Tobin had up until yesterday.

But Daryl knew from the start that there was something else going on.

He had noticed the more obvious signals, like the fact that they were almost always together, how she laughed when she was with him, the way they talked to each other. That was what made them good friends in the eyes of the others.

Yet he also noticed the tiny little details that told him this relationship wasn't just friendship. The way they deliberately bumped shoulders; grazed each other's hands in a seemingly unintentional way; the way she looked at him; the smile she gave him, genuine and open. He noticed how, when Morgan thought nobody was watching, he intertwined one of his fingers around one of hers and whispered very close to her ear. Sometimes his arms sneaked around her waist and pulled her up in the air, making her laugh. Sometimes, when sitting side by side, their feet played with each other. Sometimes Daryl spotted them sitting together on the grass, or the porch, her head on his shoulder like it was the most normal thing to do.

A few weeks ago he had seen her walk straight towards his house, knock on his door and go inside. She had stayed there, hadn't gone back home. He knew because both of them lived together.

He didn't wonder what was going on between them or how it had happened. They had once avoided each other like the plague. Now they were strangely interconnected, him and her. Morgan knew her so little and yet had gotten so far… tearing down all of her walls. He'd given her hope; he'd cared for her when she needed it the most; he'd strengthened her; saved her. He was what she'd always needed. Perhaps what she always wanted.

And the idea that he may be the right man for her burnt Daryl's insides for some reason.

"What's the riddle, Jones?" Morgan had been reluctant the entire ride, but after the third time they both asked him, he finally gave in.

"Three men go into the woods: A hunter, a monk and a trickster. All of them in search of the same price, a price they've always wanted. The hunter trusts his habilities; the trickster his cunning; the monk his gods. Who ends up winning?"

"The trickster." Tobin said. "He tricks the other two and claims the price for himself."

"Not before the hunter puts an arrow straight through his eye." Daryl answered. Morgan kept quiet in the back seat, watching them. After a minute Tobin turned to him, raising his eyebrow.

"So, which one gets it?" Morgan shrugged. After a few minutes of silence Daryl came up with the solution.

"There's no wrong answer… the riddle is a trick."

"Yeah."

"What?" Tobin asked, confused.

"Depends on the kind of lesson you want to get from the story:" Morgan explained. "If the story is about skill, then the hunter gets to the price before the other two and kills them before sharing it. If the story is about cleverness, the trickster tricks the other two into taking the smallest parts while he keeps the biggest. If the story is about morals, the gods help the monk, but they also poise him to split the price in three and share it equally."

"Then what's the purpose of the riddle if all answers are right?" Tobin wondered, still confused.

"To see what kind of person you are." Daryl answered, and the color drained from the builder's face. Daryl and Morgan exchanged amused looks.

"Wait. That can't be right. Either way, it is the monk the one who loses." Tobin asserted after a long awkward silence.

"No. He's the one who wins in every scenario. Both hunter and trickster will only win once and lose twice. They either get the convenient part of the price or fail. The monk doesn't have this problem. If he gets killed by the hunter before getting the price, he welcomes death with a clean conscience. If he gets tricked by the trickster, he'll still be grateful for what he's received. If he gets to share the price with the other two, he will have solved the conflict and made the right thing."

Daryl scoffed.

"This monk Jesus or something?" He turned to Morgan. "That's bullshit and you're a weird dude."

"You were the ones who wanted the damn riddle."

It had been clever though. Morgan had read both Tobin and Daryl easily based on their answers. He had won this round. How many more Daryl would let him win? That was a good question. He had never believed in the power of women to cause wars. He always thought those men who fought for a woman were nothing but idiots. But now he realized he hadn't known shit. There were three men inside this car, each of them loved Carol. Each of them wanted her for themselves and wanted to get rid of the other two. This was a war a woman had caused without doing anything other than showing affection.

They got to the location marked on the map by Dwight. Daryl gave Tobin a shotgun while Morgan searched their surroundings for walkers.

"You stay back. Stand watch. I'll take mister Monk with me."

"I can go with you two." Tobin pressed.

"I said no." Daryl interrupted, knowing well that if Tobin went with them sooner or later he would turn this into a silly competition for Carol and get himself hurt in the process. That kind of nonsense was not appropriate for a post-apocalyptic world.

As they left Tobin and the van behind and ventured into the woods in silence, the tension seemed to recede between them, being replaced by something much more hostile and dangerous, but somehow much more welcoming for both. The woods were familiar to Morgan, home to Daryl. A dour environment in which the dangers were obvious and present, where their pasts stared them in the face, instead of hiding behind façades of suburban houses and smiling people. In these woods, confronted with their most primitive selves, without appearances to keep, they both could shed their own skins and become what they truly were: two dangerous men capable of killing each other. No monks. No tricksters. Hunters.

"You sleeping with her?" The question catched Morgan by surprise.

"What?"

"Are you sleeping with her?" Daryl asked again, clearly and slowly, as if the man next to him was a toddler.

The look mr. Monk gave him made it very clear that condescension was a dangerous game to play with him.

"No." Daryl threw him a look of his own.

"I've seen you two. I've seen her in your house." Morgan looked away.

"So?"

"So what you do together all night? Play scrabble? Light some candles and meditate?" Or whatever shit monks did when they got bored with their peaceful life.

The sarcasm didn't seem to hit. The dark skinned man kept on walking in silence, biting the inside of his mouth as if he knew something Daryl didn't.

"We…" He started "We sleep. But not together. I mean, we sleep together. But it's not like that…" He looked up at the foliage as if the leaves could provide him with an answer that would get him out of trouble. He was out of luck. "We don't have sex." He finally said, looking straight into Daryl's eyes. "I know it sounds like bullshit…"

"It does." Daryl cut him short. He didn't really care if Carol was screwing him. Carol could screw whoever she wanted to. It wasn't that he was jealous of Carol screwing another man, god knew he couldn't really screw Carol. He wasn't ready for women. They were so… intimidating… Morgan screwing Carol wasn't the problem, the problem was the kind of attachment that derived from that. The problem was Carol falling in love with a man who could potentially hurt her. Morgan seemed like a good dude, but that didn't mean he was one. He had saved Carol but that didn't mean he couldn't destroy her. Boyfriends could be leeches, monsters, wolves in disguise. Love was a dangerous game to play, and Carol had suffered enough at the hands of other men. "You listen closely now: That woman is my family. My blood sister. You hurt her in _any_ way, I'll hunt you down and tear you to pieces. Understand?"

"She'd do it herself before you even got the chance."

Carol would rip the heart out of whoever attempted to play with hers. She was no damsel and no price, she was a wild beast. She could make this decision alone and embrace the consequences, but that didn't mean she was made of stone. Morgan and Daryl knew this better than anyone.

Though maybe she was the one with the most power in this situation. Maybe they were the ones who had fallen into the trap of female enchantment, not noticing the danger: domesticated dogs she could now command at will. They were both there to save her, to love and protect her, and if she yelled shoot they would empty the cartridge. Both of them, rolling on the tip of her finger.

Between them, alone, this meant silent war. A woman like her could love them both, but they could only love her. And possessiveness was something instinctive when two men and one woman were involved. It was a shame, truly, that this rivalry had to happen. He was kinda fond of mister Monk here and mister Monk was kinda fond of him. Women were mischievous creatures.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, two hunters seizing each other up.

* * *

 _A/N: Daryl will be the only one in this story besides Carol and Morgan who gets his own POV. I'm not sure how many Daryl-POV chapters I'll make, but they'll be scattered around. The Caryl/Corgan love-triangle is, however, a very small part of the story. It's implied, it's present, but the main focus will always be on Corgan._

 _PS: I never really liked love-triangles/love-squares but I just can't stop myself from writing about them. There you see my shameful Bella-Swan cliche-ridden shadow, which I subconsciously repress more than Carol represses her female-boner for Morgan ;) come on, we all know she has one._


	20. Enso

**Enso**

She lay on the bed, watching him sharpen a knife with a stone. The sound was as calming to her as a lullaby, it meant protection and alert. It meant no one would catch them off guard. Even now, inside this house, with no threat around and a wall protecting them from the outside, she felt safer with a weapon in close range than without it.

He left the stone on the table and started wiping the now polished blade. A small symbol had been carved on its wooden handle: a simple but perfect circle, barely open at the base.

"You made that?" she asked him. He turned to her and nodded, smiling.

"You know what it is? Eastman called it an enso. It's a symbol of the nature of the universe." He followed the line of the circle with a finger.

"Everything gets a return."

"Life and death; good and evil; nature; we all start at the same place and go back to it in the end. And once we understand this cycle that repeats itself over and over, we can finally find peace." Carol narrowed her eyes at that. How could she find peace in such a hopeless concept? Life was awful and death was even worse. And those who died the wrong way were bound to walk the earth aimlessly, feeding on the living, whereas the living massacred and hurt each other until they became no different than the flesh-eating dead creatures that wanted to devour them. The cycle was hell, and peace didn't exist in hell.

Her finger followed the carved circle in the same way Morgan's had. It came to the opening on its base and stopped.

"Why isn't it closed?"

"It's incomplete, like my path." His finger softly moved hers so that it was covering the blank space between beginning and end. "I haven't gotten there yet."

"Will you ever if you start killing again?"

"Maybe." She rested her chin on his shoulder and looked at him. Maybe if he left, if he found his path in complete solitude… if he stayed here he would be forced to let go of everything he had fought to achieve since Eastman showed him his way.

What was peace anyway? And why did they constantly search for it in this chaotic world? What she saw in that circle wasn't the nature of the universe. She only saw a snake sliding in circles, trying to bite its own tail. She saw an eternal war against all of the things she tried to and couldn't prevent.

She moved her hand away, uncomfortable by the questions inside her head.

"You're skilled." She commented. "What else can you do with your hands?"

"Wanna find out?" He asked half-mockingly, half-innocent, and it made her heartbeat race. _I do. More than you realize._ Her cheeks turned warm at the thought. Morgan left the knife on the table and turned to her. A little too late she guessed his intentions: his hand had already sneaked behind her back and pinched her through her blouse, making her squeal like a little girl. Incredible that after all the bruises and falls she'd suffered she was still incredibly ticklish.

"Knock it off." She warned him. A moment of tension followed, before he attempted to tickle her again and she stopped his hands from reaching her belly. "I'm serious!"

She tried to get off the bed, but he managed to wrap his arms around her preventing her from escaping. They wrestled on the mattress for a few minutes until he had her heaving with laughter and begging him to stop. Once he let her go she got up, moving as far away from him as she could. Panting, her cheeks red, she felt as if she'd just finished running a marathon. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid it would drum out of her chest.

"Everything ok?" He asked, confused by her reaction. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." she answered immediately.

"I'm sorry." his apology sounded really concerned. She turned towards him.

"I'm fine." she assured him. "I just have to get back home, it's getting late."

"You're not staying?" Carol let the air out of her lungs.

"I can't."

"Sure you can."

Pause.

"You don't understand." She whispered quietly. The silence that followed was so dense she could slice the atmosphere with a knife.

He got up and came close, wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest, knocking the air out of her. Not because he was squeezing her hard, but because the simple action just left her breathless. Her arm went around his neck, hand stroking the base of his head gently. She nuzzled softly against his shoulder and closed her eyes for a second, before pulling away. She felt his feather kiss against her ear, the way his nose stroke the side of hers. She moved her head away, but his arms held her in place and her grasp on his shoulders didn't let go.

"Stop. Stop running away." He whispered, just a few centimeters from her face. "You don't run away from people you care about."

Her heart was beating way too fast; she hadn't felt like this since she was a young woman. No, she didn't want to run away. She wanted to stay in his arms. She wanted… she wanted to love him. She wasn't aware of when he kissed her, she just knew that she let him, and that she responded to his gentleness with passion. Her fists grabbed handfuls of his shirt as she gave into her own desire for him. It felt so right. It felt like living again. He was so gentle, so stable, so full of peace… and she felt tiny. A tiny castaway holding onto him for dear life before the ocean came to sweep her away and drown her. Swimming adrift for too long, she had finally found a place, a person, with whom she could finally rest.

She was safe with him.


	21. Skin on Fire

**Skin on fire**

After a day of helping the King and his men move the entire arsenal of the Kingdom into the Safe-Zone in the middle of an autumn downpour he was grateful for finally being home. He'd had it light. Most of the alexandrians were probably still out there digging trenches in the rain.

No one had the chance to get a rest now. Rick was finally about to attack. Very soon, very soon. Morgan still didn't know how to feel about it. The storm got worse and the sound of the gate opening and trucks returning from the outside, full of people cursing the weather, invaded the Safe-Zone. Carol must be on one of those trucks.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Not now. This passion he felt for her had invaded his very being.

He wasn't sure what they were: it had gone from them fighting like rabid dogs in a basement, to sleeping in the same bed, to snuggling like birds inside a nest, and now to furiously making out every single time they were alone together, like a couple teenagers who'd just discovered kissing. Well at least they didn't complicate things anymore by running away from each other. And yet there were so many things unsaid between them, so many feelings he wanted to let out. He knew he couldn't, he didn't want to scare her. Maybe the reason why she had let him kiss her that one night that culminated in two weeks of this beautiful mess was because she felt the imminent threat of war and death looming closely above them. Or maybe she really felt something for him: something deep, like what he felt for her. Maybe not as strong, but still there.

The only thing he knew was that he wouldn't rush her or force her into anything she didn't want.

He heard the knock on his door. Speak of the devil. He got up from the couch and let her in. The fact that she was drenched from head to toe and covered in mud was already enough to make him leave any sort of questions aside and replace them with protectiveness.

"We had to stop the digging because of the rain. Hell, we almost drown in one of those trenches, Daryl and me."

"Are you ok?" He asked, worried, checking her from head to toe in search for scratches or bruises.

"No, of course not. I'm covered in mud and my muscles are killing me." She sighed and shook her head like a dog, splashing him with pulverized water. "This damn weather finally paid off. Daryl will be inside that shower for hours, I hope."

"How did you get him into it?"

"Hung a squirrel from the sealing and locked the door when he was in." He burst out laughing. "It was either that or a hose-down, I told him. He won't stain my floor any longer." She looked down at her own boots and the trail they had left from the door to the living room. "I'm sorry, I'm making a mess of the place."

"It's ok." Now that he'd made sure she hadn't been roughed up more than necessary, he finally had the time to digest the sight of her dripping wet and muddy. It was something else. She wasn't even wearing tight clothes and yet they stuck to her figure, see-through and heavy, and just asking to be taken off. Her skin radiated heat despite them, and he could almost feel it without touching her.

"Can I use yours?" She asked. He lifted his gaze, confused.

"My what?" She gave him a coy side-smile.

"Shower, you fool." He swallowed.

"Sure."

He set the kettle on the stove as he heard the shower run, trying his best not to imagine the small drops of water running through her ivory skin, falling from her hair, following the soft line of her back, between her shoulder-blades down to the curve of her waist. He put her clothes inside the wash machine and prepared a plate of fruit to give her in case she was starving.

He knocked on the door of the bedroom after an hour.

"Are you hungry?" He asked as she let him in, but his throat ran dry immediately.

"Those awful pomegranates." She said eyeing the plate, but took it from his hand regardless. As she ate, she extended him the towel she has drying her hair with, asking him to do it for her. He barely registered it, captivated by what he was seeing.

He had given her clean clothes to put on, since all of her stuff was muddy and wet. His clothes. He should've known to psychologically prepare for this. That was his shirt she was using, and it was way too big for her, but it somehow looked better than it had ever looked on him. She hadn't buttoned it up completely, showing just a little neckline but leaving it all practically to the imagination. And her legs… her pale, long, skinny legs were folded in a meditating position on the bed. Naked. Their white skin looking so soft to the touch. It wasn't just sexy, it was endearing. It was the sight enjoyed by a man coming home after a hard day of work and finding his girlfriend on the bed, lounging lazily in his wardrobe. He had never wanted to kiss her this much; to kiss every inch of her. From the top of her head to the last of her toes, he just wanted to navigate her illusorily fragile body until he had memorized every crevice of it.

She left the pomegranates on the plate again after barely eating one slice.

"Ok, I'm done. Ezekiel is gonna pay for filling Alexandria with this stuff." She cleaned the red juice that had fallen down her chin and disappeared under the creases of the shirt. As she noticed his dumbfounded expression her smile turned so cheeky he almost jumped on her like a tiger. "The pants were too big. You don't mind, do you?" She asked in that innocent tone of hers.

"No." The sight of her naked legs were the last thing that bothered him. The warmth of her skull seeped through his fingers as he dried her hair. All the time she kept looking at him and he kept looking up at her grey curls, as if in doing so he was capable of hiding his emotions. He knew it was impossible. She was just a few inches away from him, wearing nothing but his shirt, her skin still humid from the shower and the rain. It was the perfect vision. And she knew what it was doing to him. "I'll… sleep on the sofa." He said when he was finished, or when he'd had enough of this teasing. "Anything you need you just call me. Ok?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're kidding, right?" He must've been. He knew exactly what was going on, and yet was frozen, not knowing whether to flee or not. They had never gotten there before. Almost, twice, but they'd always stopped before taking it further. Kissing was a game; intimacy meant more and they both knew it. "You're too old to be so shy, you know?" She whispered with a smile.

Her voice was so soft he thought it was coming from an hallucination. In fact everything seemed so unreal right now he wondered if the pressure of war hadn't already taken a toll on him and he was going bonkers again. He was staring at a goddess. The perfect woman, right there, in front of him, willing to give herself to him. Her touch set his skin on fire as she pulled him closer, hands on his chest and her nose nuzzling against his. He didn't need another invitation to begin kissing her. She tasted like pomegranate, bitter and sweet and wavering between the underworld and the earth above. His hands ran up and down her waist and hips, his torso gently lying down on top of her, pressing her slim, beautiful body between the mattress and him. Her fingers clawed on his arms and her lips became more insistent. She bit him slightly and he smiled.

"Easy." He kissed her temple softly and went down and down until he reached the juncture between her jawline and neck. Her legs pressed against his sides. He stroked them like a timid school-boy, barely touching her skin, hands almost trembling. She sighed sweetly anyways, almost encouraging him to go on. She was a damn goddess, and he had no fucking idea of how in the hell he had gotten this lucky in life. Whatever was going on now, he just wanted to make sure he wouldn't lose it all from night to morning. He moved back up and pressed his forehead against hers for a minute, until she opened her eyes and looked at him. "I don't want you to regret this tomorrow."

Silence filled the atmosphere as he waited for her answer. Silence riddled with expectation.

"I won't." She answered.

* * *

 _A/N: I don't really ship Carol/Ezekiel. Too much into Corgan to ship her with anyone else. But if it happens I'll be cool with it. Hope you enjoying this._


	22. Marks on Skin

**Marks on Skin**

Ed used to leave marks on her skin as well, but those were made out of hate and rage, not love and passion. Whenever a new bruise appeared on her, she'd usually be forced to cover it with make up, ashamed of herself and afraid of what the world would think. They hurt when she touched them, making her eyes swell with tears.

How could love be so violent? She used to ask herself. But excuses always seemed to come in the place of answers.

 _Love is sacrifice. Marriage is not a rose garden. Along with the sunshine there's gotta be a little rain sometimes. The martyrs suffered worse. I am in love with a damaged man, I need to understand him. It won't happen again, he's promised me._

 _There's nothing better for me anyways._

The woman looking back at her in the mirror was so damn different than that scared housewife. And the mark on her neck was so harmless and brought back such sweet memories she almost didn't wanna cover it. Ed wasn't even worthy of swiping the earth Morgan walked on. Ed had been brusque, Morgan was sweet and tender. Ed had been a wimp, Morgan was a true man. One who knew how to treat a woman well.

True, he had hurt her once. He still felt guilty about it every time she mentioned it by accident. But that fight had been on equal grounds, with her attacking him. She didn't blame him for it, and she knew, she was certain this time, that when he said it wouldn't ever happen again, he meant it.

His arms went around her waist and he nuzzled against her shoulder. 7 o'clock and he had already washed his face and teeth and changed and was ready to go. She had barely woken up. Goddamn, he had worn her out last night.

"Good morning, beautiful." One of his hands stroked her neck softly as he noticed the small purplish spot on it. "What do we have here?"

"You don't remember that?" He smiled, cheeky.

"I do." His expression made her flush and elbow him in the stomach at the same time.

"I hate you." She said lovingly. "Now I'm gonna have to wear turtlenecks for at least a week."

"Next time I'll leave it on your chest then."

"Are you crazy?" She turned redder, like a teenage virgin who'd just had sex for the first time. He laughed quietly against her ear.

"Let Tobin see it. So that he stops looking at your ass every time you walk away from him."

"You… behave now!" she hit him a bit harder this time and he pulled away from her.

"I have to go. Rick will kill me if I don't show up."

"Trench day?" She asked turning towards him.

"Trench day. I can't wait." She stopped him before he left, fixing the neck of his shirt. Finally she threw her arms around him and pecked him on the lips.

"I really don't mind."

"Really?" She shook her head.

"You can do it again." He smiled.

"And I will."

She saw him leave and went back to searching for a turtleneck somewhere inside the drawers. It was unusual for her to feel this happy about a mark on her skin. Unusual for her to have let him do it in the first place.

But then again, this whole relationship was just that. Unusual. The way he had found his way into her heart, sneakily crawling down her skin and defeating all of the traps and barriers she had constructed to keep him away... the way they had fought each other so much just to find out that they were basically what the other needed. The way they seemed to have searched for each other forever and yet clashed and pulled and pushed in this beautiful swirl of emotions and visions.

He knew she was his. Finally. After so much denial.

She knew it too.


	23. Devotion

**Devotion**

She'd had too many bad experiences with love before. She knew of violence, abuse, emotional dependency, vulnerability… a woman like her should've been more careful when it came to love. And for a time, with Tobin, she'd tried; keeping her barriers up, keeping at safe distance. With Morgan, however, it was all gone. He had broken her armor into a million pieces, torn down all of her walls, deactivated all of her defenses. If he happened to hurt her, he'd find no obstacle in his way.

He hadn't done it, though. And she was sure he wouldn't. Their relationship was healthy, beautiful and maybe one of the last things on earth that made her feel safe. And yet something kept her from taking the next step. A couple nights ago, as he was drifting off to sleep, his head gently lying on her chest listening to her heartbeat, she had almost chanted it out loud.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you._

But she'd bitten her tongue in the right second and minutes after his breathing had deepened and he was gone. She couldn't say it. She wasn't sure whether he felt the same way for her. Everything seemed to point out to the fact that he did. His caring, his devotion… but she didn't trust anyone anymore. Not truly. She didn't even trust herself.

The few times she had, she had stumbled upon monsters.

They had locked the door to the new secret armory and were now working on separate tables in silence, packing Eugene's new ammunition in little bundles and hiding them under the lose planks of the floor to prevent Negan and his crew from finding them. She would usually be closer to him, but he had been quiet and snappy the entire morning and she suspected something was bothering him, so she'd resolved to give him his space before getting into an unnecessary fight.

"It's not about you." He finally said, breaking the tense silence. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, alert. "I'm scared for Benjamin and I just can't deal with the tension."

"He'll be alright." She said, without much reflection. The chilling silence that followed her words made her realize she'd made a mistake.

"Boy can't kill a damn fly and he wants to fight this war. Don't tell me he will be alright." He snapped. She looked down, apologetic.

"I'm sorry, that was… I didn't mean…"

"No. Forgive me." Morgan said quickly, riddled with regret for having taken his rage out on her. "I'm being an ass; you don't need this right now."

She stopped what she was doing and walked towards him. She hated seeing him like this. With every day that passed he got more and more anxious.

"Babe…" Her arm went around his waist, bringing him closer. She caressed his head lovingly, pressing his forehead against hers.

He sighed and closed his eyes. His expression suddenly turned pained, as if someone had just stabbed him in the gut. She kissed him softly, trying to make it better, but knowing very well that she couldn't appease his fear for the future. Hell, she could barely keep hers under control.

"I don't want him to die, Carol…"

"I know." He exhaled, his hands running up and down her arms. "You have trained him as best as you can. He's more prepared for this than he would've ever been without you."

"It's not enough. You know that. Aikido can only keep him alive for so long." He hid his face in her shoulder and his breathing became shaky. She held him close against her as he pulled himself together once more. "I don't know what I would do without you right now. I would've lost my mind long ago if it weren't for you." He whispered against her skin. She felt the vibration of his voice go through her body and smiled. He suddenly grabbed her chin and kissed her, not exactly brusquely, but with a lot of need. His arms closed around her like an iron cage. "I won't lose you either, will I?" He whispered against her lips. "Baby, I need you to stay alive."

She shushed him. She didn't want to hear it. The future was one big black hole about to swallow them into its uncertain darkness. Experience had taught her time and again that the worst was always bound to happen no matter what and she didn't want to think about what she would lose in this war. She moaned in surprise as he pulled her up and sat her on top of the table, still pressing her against him.

"Someone will walk in…" she warned him, but he didn't seem to care. He kissed her again, his hands sneaking underneath her shirt.

The door swung open and she pushed him away, trying to fix her shirt again. Rick came in but as he realized what was going on he stopped and looked behind his shoulder, as if he was considering on going back and closing the door like nothing had happened. Why was it that every time they were together outside of their house someone caught them doing something intimate?

"Sorry, should've knocked first."

"A little too late for that, isn't it?" Morgan answered, half angry and half embarrassed. Carol shot him a hard look, but Rick only smiled.

"I guess. Carol, can you come with me? I'd like to discuss something."

She got down from the table, chastising Morgan with her eyes. But his face was now lit-up with a tiny side smile and that made her happy. She walked in silence next to Rick as they exited the armory, pondering how she'd be able to explain to the leader what he'd just witnessed.

"I need you to go back to Eugene's workshop and give him this inventory." Rick handed her a note. "It's the guns we've scavenged from walkers. We've had luck this time. Do it today, please." She nodded.

"About…"

"You and Morgan, it's none of my business. Or anyone else's." Rick said, amused. "But I knew there was something going on there."

"No you didn't." He smiled and she gaped at him. "Is it that obvious?"

"That you two love each other? Yes. But I never thought you were together already. I mean, Morgan was married before. I didn't think he would ever get over her…" suddenly it felt as if a bucket of icy water had been dropped on her head. Rick must've noticed her tense up, because he stopped walking almost at the same time she did. She looked at him with eyes wide.

"His… wife?" She asked, trying to stop the shake in her voice. The leader opened and closed his mouth twice, realizing he had made a mistake.

"Yeah." He said awkwardly. Carol swallowed and crossed her arms.

"What do you know about her?" She wondered in a much more normal tone.

"What I've told you. She turned, he couldn't kill her, she then killed his son. But I'm sure he's over it." She nodded and looked down at her shoes, thinking.

He wasn't over it. Every night he had nightmares about it. Both of them did. But that wasn't what had frozen her. It was the memory of the damn ring. That ring Morgan still wore on his finger, she'd seen it. He never took it off. And the few times he did he put it back on immediately, as if he were afraid of somehow losing it. She'd noticed it from the start because she noticed everything; but she'd never asked about it, or made a big deal. He'd been married before and she had to respect that. Still, deep inside, it stung like a bitch. It was that exact sting that made her uncertain of everything and she was just now realizing it.

If he still carried his wife's ring like a treasure, like something he wouldn't want to lose, like his stick or his rabbit-foot or his yellow philosophy book, it meant something. That ring made him who he was, it was a part of him. It was a memory he didn't want to lose. It had taken a while for her to get rid of her ring, and give Ed's watch to Rick so that she could finally let go of him. She didn't have anything but memories to remind her of Sophia. She was over them somehow, having let them go. Morgan wasn't. Jenny was dead but he still loved her.

And it hurt. It felt as if Morgan was using her to replace the absence of someone he had truly loved.

"I'll take a car and drive to the workshop right now." She said, laconically, folding the note and putting it in her back-pocket. She needed to get out of here. She needed air, silence and to be as far away from him as she could. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of. Him hurting her. And he hadn't even meant to, it was just that all of her defenses were gone and the blow was piercing through her soft skin as easy as a knife cutting butter.

She turned towards the gate, but Rick's hand on her shoulder stopped her. She didn't dare looking at him.

"Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it. I don't want you to doubt his affection."

"Well, you don't know how he truly feels. Neither do I."

"I know how he feels." Rick smiled. "I know him." She turned towards him and found him looking at her with assertion. "And trust me when I say this: What he's done for you, he wouldn't have done it for me. Or for Ezekiel. Or for anyone else. That's devotion, Carol. That's how much he loves you."


	24. Ghost of the Past

**Ghost of the Past**

They only had potatoes today. The entire Safe-Zone, overcrowded with troops from the Kingdom and understocked due to the shit the Saviors had taken were basically surviving on an all-potato-diet now. He cooked the potatoes and washed the pot as slow as he could and still Carol didn't come out of the bathroom. He let her be. Contrary to popular belief (and even his own before) women like Carol needed their space.

She had walked into the house with an aura of saddened anger that would make a walker look less tragic and less threatening when compared to her. When he asked her what was wrong she had responded with that one answer that made every man with a bit of experience on women fear for his life.

 _Nothing._

Nothing never meant nothing when it came to the female gender. The paradox of that word being the contender of catastrophes similar to an atomic bomb falling over Hiroshima was well known and well feared. And it usually left a man in a state of alert and helplessness, like a deer in the headlights of a fast car that wasn't planning on stopping.

She'd talk to him when she was ready. He knew from experience that pressing women, trying to find out answers, never worked to the guy's advantage. Then again, ignoring them worked even worse.

Finally she got out of the bathroom and walked straight towards the bedroom, covered in a towel. She still didn't look at him. He sighed silently and turned his back to the closing door, but her voice stopped him.

"Can you come in here please?" She asked softly, almost insecure. He swallowed hard, turned and followed her, closing the door behind him as she let the towel fall to the floor and took one of his shirts out of the drawer. She loved to use them to sleep. He loved it too, morning creases be damned. She sighed, sitting next to him.

"What's wrong?" He asked again, and finally, she seemed ready to talk. She shook her head, almost ashamed of herself.

"Can you talk about her?" He felt something sting on the back of his neck.

"About who?" She looked at him with an unreadable expression. Her hand took his, running over the ring on his index-finger.

"Your wife. Jenny. That was her name, wasn't it?" His heart shrunk in his ribcage. Jenny suddenly invaded his memory, as clear as if he had seen her yesterday. Her laughter resonated in his ears, her touch shook his skin. Suddenly he could see her, still in that bloody nightgown, watching them from the corner of the room. He pulled away from Carol's touch.

"I don't want to talk about her." He said, moving to the head of the bed, his eyes set on his wife's apparition. That ghost of his past.

 _She's not here._

"Why do you still have the ring then?" Carol asked. Behind her Jenny tilted her head, as if asking the same question. Her eyes were dark and lifeless; that wasn't his wife. That was a monster. But she was not here, she had died twice, long ago, in King County. The Jenny standing in that room wasn't Jenny. It was his mind playing with him. It was his fears and pains all turned into flesh, all manifesting in front of him.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, resting his back against the head of the bed. He extended an arm towards Carol, almost desperately, calling her next to him.

"Come here." He pleaded. She hesitated for a minute, but as she realized he was trembling, she gave in, settling between his arms. Her heartbeat, her warmth, her soft scent appeased him. She was here: real, alive. Here was here. With her. "I don't wanna forget her, that's all. She was…" He stopped and swallowed, opening his eyes and looking at the corner of the room. Jenny's hallucination wasn't gone.

"She was the love of your life." Carol finished the sentence, laconically. He didn't let go of her.

"I don't know that anymore. But I loved her. I loved her very much." He answered, looking straight into his wife's eyes as if trying to explain it to her too. _I loved you Jenny, with all my life. Please believe that, please forgive me_. "Fifteen years we were together, Carol. She's been gone for only two. It's almost half a lifetime in which her and Duane were my everything. It took so long to get used to the idea that she was dead. For god's sake, I couldn't even put her down until she bit my son." His voice broke and tears started streaming down his eyes unwillingly. Carol was watching him with attention. She nuzzled closer to him as he cleaned them away, almost wanting to give him comfort. He cleared his throat. "You see why I don't like to talk about her? It's painful."

His marriage hadn't been like Carol's, Jenny had been good. They hadn't had the easiest life, but they'd found so much happiness together. He swore at the altar that he would grow old with her; that he would never remarry if she happened to leave him or die. But that didn't mean what it had meant to him back then. Living with Jenny after everything happened had been a daily torture. He couldn't stop associating that lively ray of sunshine he had once loved with the grim rotten monster that had killed his son. Jenny's memory was painful. She hurt him. Like a big thorn stuck in his heart she made him bleed, and no matter how faithful he tried to be to her memory, how much he tried to keep her inside him, not let her go, the only thing she did was infect him like a gangrene.

Carol acted like an antibiotic to his deepest wounds. She hurt, but she healed. She killed the corruption somehow. Everything that was wrong, painful, grim to him, became lighter to stand when she was by his side. Carol felt like a cure, pushing Jenny's ghost aside with each day that passed.

With each of Carol's kisses, with each night she slept in his arms, Jenny's memory dissolved a little bit more. He would never completely forget her, and the scars caused by her tragic departure would be there forever. But at least now he knew there was a chance he could truly let her go.

It was time.

His wife was dead but Carol was alive. She was alive and beautiful; her skin warm, her eyes glowing when they looked at him. Carol meant open arms welcoming him into a new life. Giving him a new chance of leaving his past behind. Leaving Jenny behind. Like the lifeless corpse that she was.

"Be honest. Do you still love her?" He didn't answer for a long time.

"I will always love her. Someway, somehow." She tensed in his arms, but he took her chin in between his fingers and made her look at him. "But she's gone; you're not. And you're not her replacement, you're someone new. A hope. I love you, Carol, I truly do. You have to understand that." Lost in his mind, it took him a second to realize what he'd just said to her. Those blue eyes of hers were now wide as plates looking at him and her lips formed that straight line that usually meant she was either extremely anxious or extremely overwhelmed. He swallowed hard at her expression. "Was it too soon?"

He had only been honest. It hadn't even been conscious. But maybe he should've thought it through. He didn't know how she felt about him even now, so maybe his words had scared her…

She kissed him passionately, stopping his catastrophic train of thought. As she moved on top of him in a fit of affection he had never seen in her before and his hands travelled down her back to her waist, admiring the perfect curve of her body, he dared to look at the corner of the room one last time.

Jenny was gone now.

"Wait, wait." His hands joined behind Carol's head and he slid the ring off his finger, stretching to his side so that he could put it on the night-table.

"You don't have to do that…" Carol whispered, but he gave her a smile.

"It's ok."

* * *

 _A/N: I haven't put songs for the chapters in this fic, but this was so heavily inspired by one I want you to listen to it:_

 _Heal - Tom Odell_


	25. Obsidian

**Obsidian**

He opened his eyes; dark obsidian mirrors reflecting hers, and for a minute she thought they were piercing right through her, looking into her darkest, most hidden depths. Something tribal had awakened in him that morning; a wild confined beast finally breaking free from heavy chains, teeth clashing, claws steering, waiting impatiently to attack.

The sun hadn't come up yet, but birds were already singing, and the blueish light of before dawn was starting to filter through the windows. The entire world seemed to be holding its breath for what was to come. The silence was asphyxiating, like a whisper of death.

Today was the day.

They were all marching to war, right into death's open arms.

She caressed his face and he closed his eyes again, relishing in her touch. His sigh was very low, it shook her every cell. This might be the last morning she'd wake up by his side. Maybe she'd never come back, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe they'd both die.

Soulmates were supposed to die together, weren't they?

"It's not tomorrow yet." She whispered.

"Very soon." There was a sweet melancholy in his voice, as if he were mourning the end of those long peaceful days of the past. Of the man he could've been, the man he wanted to be.

Holding the blanket tightly around her body, she moved closer until she could sit on top of him, straddling him across the waist. She slowly opened her arms, letting the sheets fall, exposing herself to the chilly air of the room. He breathed in deeply, admiring every inch of her body with his eyes. His hands gently defined the curve of her hips and waist, fingertips drawing sinuous lines along her sides. His fingers took their time moving across her bare skin, as if charting a map of the small imperfections they could find: every freckle and translucent stretch mark, the healed scar on her stomach, the gunshot wound on her forearm. Her breath got caught in her throat when he propped himself up, his lips tracing a straight line of kisses from the base of her neck down to her clavicle, breastbone, lower rib, abdomen.

"You're beautiful." he whispered, mesmerized by her. She pressed her naked torso against his, looking for his lips as if they were an oasis in the middle of the desert.

"Don't be afraid." She murmured.

"I'm not scared for myself."

"Yeah, you are." He sighed and looked down. "You are scared _of_ yourself."

She knew it because she felt it too. He shook his head and grabbed her hips tighter, pulling them against his. She sighed.

"I don't wanna think about that. Not yet."

No, not yet; it was not tomorrow yet; they still had a couple hours.

A couple hours to forget together.

 _I know you, my love. You're wild and tameless like me. I know what you are afraid of, who you would kill for. Don't be afraid of me._

 _All of this filthy skin covering my most basic self; tear it apart. Crawl under it and turn me inside out. And see me for who I am, the beast I've become. Kiss my wounds and my claws tainted with blood. Clean my tears away and piece by piece, wrench this hell out of me._

Her nails dug into his shoulder-blades, trailing down like bloody marks left by an animal. She almost screamed, but held it down.

"Quiet." soldiers from the Kingdom were in the other rooms, still sleeping. The walls were paper thin.

He slightly bit the skin of her neck to show her he was aware of her every sensation. She hid her face against his shoulder, muffling the sounds that came out of her mouth. Her toes curled against his calves.

The world turned into a storm and she lost herself in it, letting it destroy her. He followed, his breath hitching in a micro-second of asphyxia.

"I love you so much, you crazy stick-wielding hippie." She whispered feverish. Only after a few seconds of coming back to reality and recovering her breath did she realize what she'd just said. Morgan was lying next to her by then, propped on his elbow and looking at her with eyes wide and inquisitive. She swallowed and turned to look at him, at his dark eyes that were so damn attractive when primal.

"Was that in the heat of the moment?" He asked after a minute of them looking at each other. She bit her lower lip.

"Yes." He nodded, understanding, and lay on his back on the bed, looking at the sealing. "Doesn't make it any less true." He looked at her again and she smiled, moving closer to him and laying her head on his chest.

* * *

 _ **ATTENTION:** WE'LL BE ENTERING THE ALL OUT WAR STORY ARC FROM THIS POINT ON (in which Carol and Morgan will get bloody as hell, so if you were thirsting for some action, beware), AOW IS THE COOLEST ARC OF THE ENTIRE WALKING DEAD SERIES. SO IF YOU WANNA ENJOY IT WITHOUT ANY SORT OF SPOILERY SPOILER, I WARN YOU, I'LL DEFINITELY HAVE MY SHARE IN THESE NEXT CHAPTERS. I usually always mess spoilers up in my fanfics; either change their order or somehow turn them into something completely different. But if you no like spoilers you can always stop here if you want to. I'll put warnings at the beginning of each chapter to warn of any major spoilers. Chapters with a lot of spoilers will have a HEAVY SPOILER ALERT. Chapters with minor spoilers will have a MILD SPOILER ALERT and chapters without spoilers will be SPOILER FREE._

 _Also, to those of you who support my story, I love you. I used to think the fandom for this ship was microscopic, but you've given me more support than I ever hoped to receive._


	26. March to War

_**WARNING: HEAVY SPOILER ALERT.** The chapter contains details from All Out War._

* * *

 **March to War**

"We're ready to move!" Rick's shout resonated in the distance.

"Thank god." Daryl mumbled next to them as he got up and jumped out of the truck. Leaning against Morgan's side, Carol watched him go.

"Is he angry?" she asked. Morgan didn't answer.

 _He's lost you in some way. Of course he's angry._

The caravan started moving again, Rick, Ezekiel and Paul driving the truck at the head of it.

The plan was simple. Not much could go wrong, but if it did, it would unleash hell.

After a few minutes they passed the barb-wired angel that signaled they were approaching the Sanctuary. Morgan turned to look at his girlfriend, who was loading her rifle. Her expression was as calm as the surface of a lake in the most pleasant sunny day. He felt strangely calm too, and it was that same calmness that scared him.

As the buses and trucks came to a stop people shuffled uncomfortable in their seats, rifles tightly grasped in their hands. The militia mobilized outside, a mass of people, a third part of them in armor, all of them holding long-reach weapons, all of them ready to fight.

Bang! Bang!

Rick walked decidedly to the front of the militia, python high in the air.

"Negan! Show yourself!" a long moment of asphyxiating silence, and then the figure stepped out and stared back at them across the fences and meters of walkers that separated them from him. "This isn't a threat, this is an offer for peace! We stand before you: three communities united, saying to you and your people no more! We will not give you our supplies, we will not bow to you! Those days are over!" Rick paused for a moment before continuing. "But there doesn't need to be violence, we don't have to fight over this. I know we'd all prefer not to. We're giving you a chance to surrender. We know you have children inside and people who are not a part of this, who are not saviors, who have not attacked or killed anyone. Those people will be spared, their lives can continue as they are."

The figure in a black jacket stood quiet in the distance.

"And what of the others?! Me and the rest?! The killers who have been keeping you all safe?!" His voice resonated like thunder across the yard. It almost made the militia cringe with fear. All of the people who had gotten used to that voice being their commander.

"Once, a long time ago, I made a rule. I think maybe it's time to finally stick to it. You kill and you die!"

"So let me get this straight! I fucking surrender myself and all my men and you put us to death, but our families will all get to live on happily without us. You really think we're going to go with that? What happens if we refuse?"

"Everyone out here fights their way in there. Then whatever happens, happens! And it won't be pretty!"

The silence was only interrupted by the growls of walkers going berserk on the fences. Everyone was holding their breath. Negan started laughing.

"That's fucking rich." He looked over his shoulder, Lucille dangling in his hand. "Simon! Bring your bitch over here!"

"What the fuck?!" Paul shouted as the militia witnessed Negan's right hand man drag the old, ridiculously well-dressed leader of the Hilltop across the yard and stamp him in front of the fence.

"Tell them!" they could almost see Gregory squirm with fear in Simon's grasp.

"The Hilltop stands with Negan and the saviors… if you stand against us now, you will no longer be welcome."

The men from the Hilltop whispered to each other fearfully.

"And?!" Simon urged Gregory again.

"Your families will be thrown out and have to fend for themselves…"

"And?!"

"Go home now or you'll have no home to go back to!"

Rick turned towards Paul with fearful eyes as the people from the Hilltop who had come with them started discussing in hushed and yet panicked words.

"Maggie should've punched that bastard to death." Carol spit, angrily.

One by one, the men from the community started walking to the front and apologizing to Paul. Gregory's allegiance to the Saviors had only costed Rick's army eight losses.

"We have too many, even without them." Daryl whispered next to Rick.

"I know. Gregory didn't count so good." The leader signaled with his finger at Negan, who, having watched the small number of deserters, turned to Gregory, grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and started screaming at him, waving Lucille in his other hand as if he were going to bash his brains in with it.

Simon took Gregory to the roof and in a fit of anger kicked him out of it.

"Well, this is a shame! I would've hoped my move would've spared more lives, but… I guess it's all for nothing." Negan finally said in a condescending tone. "Anyways, I've considered your kind offer… and I'm thinking of an answer somewhere between no motherfucking way and go fucking fuck yourself!"

Bang!

The man right next to Carol got hit in the head, splattering blood on the whole side of her face. Morgan covered her with his body instinctively and they both fell to the ground. The militia spread out in a panic.

"Morgan! Carol! Run! Take cover!" Rick shouted in the distance, also covering himself from the presumed sniper shooting at them. "I said watch the windows! Take eyes on the windows now and take cover!"

They did as Rick said, running behind the buses with the rest of the people.

"You're ok?" Carol squirmed in his arms as his touch reached her face.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine." She assured herself and moved at the front of the snipers. "Men, take out those windows, understand?!"

"Yes ma'am!" was the general answer. Morgan climbed to the top of one of the buses.

"Open fire!" Carol screamed.

The windows of the sanctuary exploded one by one due to the militia's retaliation. By then, Ezekiel, Paul and Rick had taken cover behind their own truck. Morgan looked through the scope at the upper roof of the sanctuary, hoping to catch the sniper who had killed two of their men. He caught sight of Ezekiel downstairs, looking at him and moving his lips.

 _Up top_ , they said.

He searched again. Something moved on the highest tower of the fabric. The sniper appeared again and shot at the militia.

"Cover!" He heard Carol shout.

 _I got him, honey._

His finger pulled the trigger. The sniper fell.

By the time Negan noticed they were shooting the windows, causing the heavy noise to rally the masses of walkers towards the Sanctuary, it was too late already.

"Rick! Look!" Daryl pointed towards the growling herd approaching.

"That's it! It's worked! Cease fire! Load onto the buses! Move!"

Morgan jumped down and started guiding the people into the buses. He walked to the front as he saw Rick run alone towards his truck.

 _What the hell is he up to?_

The herd of walkers was approaching, one of them tried to get at him. He jumped back just in time for Carol's knife to go through its brain. She pulled him urgently inside one of the buses as the herd tried to reach them. He kicked them back and she shut the door. He got up, looking through the window. He saw Sasha run towards Rick and the truck, but the bus started moving again before he could figure out what happened.

"What were you waiting on, dummy?!" Carol next to him chastised him. He looked at her.

"I wasn't going to leave without you." She sighed, half annoyed half relieved. She tried to clean the blood off her cheek, but it was already dry, it wouldn't come out. Morgan looked behind him for a bottle of water, wet a small piece of cloth and passed it across her face carefully. They looked into each other's eyes lovingly. "You're fine, my love. You're alive." He whispered softly. She moved closer to him and kissed him.

The camp was close nearby. As they both exited the buses, hand in hand, they saw the people start to celebrate.

"Too soon." Carol whispered in a fatalistic tone. Michonne walked right past them and went straight towards Paul, who had just gotten off the bus.

"Where's Rick?" She asked.

"He… uhm… stayed behind. It was part of the plan…"

"What?!"

Paul looked behind Michonne's shoulder all of a sudden.

"No wait, there!" They all turned around, towards the hill-side, as they saw Rick's frame approach. Michonne ran towards him and hugged him. The crowd started chanting the leader's name victorious, but his somber expression silenced them.

"This is no time for celebration. The war's only begun." He said, firmly. Night fell upon the camp quickly, and the bonfires lit around it attracted sequels of the walker-herd that had flooded the sanctuary and breached its fences. As Michonne, Ezekiel and a couple soldiers from the Kingdom, accompanied by Shiva, went out to clean them off, Rick and his most trusted men sat around the central bonfire, eating and resting before they continued with the planned schedule. "The Savior outposts North, South and East are now cut out from the Sanctuary. We'll attack them at their weakest, that way we'll make sure to exterminate them all in as few blows as possible so as to not cause too much loss inside our troops."

"Could the news of what happened here have reached them?" Carol asked, worried.

"Doubt it. The gates of the Sanctuary are all surrounded. They'll be stuck there for days with no way of communication." Daryl explained.

"I think it's a good plan. We just have to figure out who goes where now." Aaron said. Rick nodded.

"Carol and Daryl, we need you back at the Safe-Zone. The more people there to protect it, the safer everyone will be. Jesus, Aaron and the Alexandria troops come with me to the Northern Compound. Morgan, you go with his majesty and co. to the Southern Compound. We'll all reunite here again after we're done and move to the north-east, north-west, south-east, south-west.

"Too risky." Carol said. "I don't have to go back, I could take a squad from the Kingdom and go to the south-eastern compound. That way we make sure we hit as many of their points as quick as possible."

"I don't like that idea. We need more people at Alexandria, and splitting the squads into too small groups will result in less efficient attacks."

"He's right." Morgan said. He had been quiet through the entire discussion. "But meeting after each attack will slow us down also."

"We have to make sure everyone's ok."

"If we take too much time in that none of us will be." He leaned across the map set in front of Rick and traced the circle of compounds with his fingers. "We have bigger chances if we go in an elliptical continuum. The Kingdom troops move in this direction." He traced the circle to the left. "Your troops move in that direction." He traced the circle to the left. "We wipe as many compounds as we can, and only then, do we meet at the main base."

"Alexandria." Morgan nodded. Rick scratched his chin. "It's a good plan."

"It's risky. But it could work."

"You're assuming Negan will get rid of the threat really quickly." Daryl retorted.

"If there's something I've learned from my experiences with men like him, is that you can never underestimate them." The entire group turned to look at him, quizzically.

After the discussion was done, Morgan and Carol dismissed themselves to rest for a few hours before dawn.

"What did you mean by that?" She asked as they both sat in front of a small bonfire, sharing a blanket.

"By what?"

"Your _experience with men like that_?" He took her cold hands in his and started rubbing them to warm them up.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, baby."

"Hmm. Mysterious man, I like that."

"Oh, yeah?" She laughed as he kissed her. "One day, when this is over, I'll tell you about those men I knew when I was away in King County. About the… death, and the killings, and the atrocities…" He paused. "But right now I'm tired."

She looked at him with a calm, unreadable expression.

"You're a good man, no matter what you've done in the past." He smiled at that.

"I like to think that's true."

He fell asleep with her in his arms. When Ezekiel woke them up it was still dark.

"We're leaving."

Morgan gave Carol his staff.

"You take good care of that." She looked at it.

"It's a stick. Sure you can find more in the woods." Morgan smiled and shook his head.

"My love." He whispered, cupping her face in his hands. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard as he pressed his forehead against hers.

She'd be safe in Alexandria, he told himself. And he would try not to die. He'd cling onto life just for her, just to return to her; someway, somehow, he'd have her again. Between his arms, against his lips. This wasn't farewell. It couldn't be. Their story together wasn't over.

Her own hands stroke his chin, pulling him closer, their lips meeting in a goodbye kiss.

"You'll come back." She said once they pulled away. It was half a question, half an assertion, as if she didn't want to lie to herself but couldn't really help it. He slightly nodded and before she could say anything else he was gone. Her grasp let go of him unwillingly and as he got into the school-bus he turned to see her one last time through the window.

His beautiful Carol.


End file.
